


Bite the Hand

by souyoseta



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Metaverse (Persona 5), Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bonding Through Trauma, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Revenge, detailed trigger warnings before each chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:42:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24327478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/souyoseta/pseuds/souyoseta
Summary: There are no Phantom Thieves in Tokyo, no magical powers. Just a friend group who fights back against the hands that beat them.(Updates on Fridays.)
Relationships: Kitagawa Yusuke/Kurusu Akira, Kitagawa Yusuke/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 15
Kudos: 83





	1. The Outsider

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter will revolve around one in-game arc, with a few small exceptions. When finished, it should be around 60,000 words.
> 
> TWs for this chapter: allusions to physical and sexual abuse (vaguer than P5's descriptions of Kamoshida's crimes), suicide (again, vague).

Akira wondered, with amusement, what part of his day was the worst so far. It truly was a close race between his parents’ disgusted looks as he left, his lonely train ride, or his ornery new caretaker.

Oh, he couldn’t forget the attic he was sleeping in either. 

He couldn’t even fall dramatically to the bed, clutching his chest and muttering his grievances, as he wished,  as his attempt to do so had dislodged the crates holding the mattress up, sending himself and the entire makeshift sleeping arrangement clattering to the floor. The only stroke of luck was that Sakura wasn’t around, both to yell at him for the racket and to see him sprawled across the floorboards.

That Sunday passed by in a haze. Akira did everything he could to quiet his fidgets as the principal warned him, his homeroom teacher groaned, and his lousy caregiver let him be lectured. He even threw in a few insults himself. Still, Sakura gave him a marginally kinder look and a sigh as he made Akira a plate of curry. Akira noted that the menu above the bar priced the curry he had been served on the higher end. He accepted the apology.

-

_ Of course it would rain on my first day of school. _

He found himself hopping over puddles and under overhangs, trying to avoid getting his only uniform wet. Sakura hadn’t offered him any sort of washing machine for his clothes, but Akira had spotted a laundromat on his way out that morning. It was right next to the bathhouse he suspected he’d have to start taking advantage of if he wasn’t offered any other options. As he stopped under an overhang, he realized he really missed his parents’ house’s bathtub. Sure, it was made of plastic and sort of shallow, but it also wasn’t across the street.

A girl with blonde hair and a similar uniform slowed to a stop next to him, mumbling something to herself about the rain. She twirled one of her pigtails around her finger and watched the drops sink into the sidewalk.

“You forgot an umbrella too?” she asked.

“Yeah, and I usually like the rain too,” Akira replied, then he flinched.  _ What are you talking about? She didn’t ask if you  _ liked _ the rain. _

“I would like days like these if they didn’t make my hair frizz up,” she said as she tugged at a pigtail. “Curly hair and all. I’m sure you can relate.”

She nodded to Akira’s own hair. He turned around to look at his reflection in the window behind him, finding his hair much wilder than it was when he left the house. She laughed a little at him, trying to be considerate by covering her mouth.

“It’s all about the condit...” she started. She trailed off as she watched a car pull up and it’s window roll down. A man inside leaned over the middle console and waved the girl over.

“Good morning! Want me to give you a ride to school? You’re going to be late,” he yelled over the rain.

“Um, sure. Thank you,” she replied as she walked away, waving at Akira. “Nice talking to you.”

“You too.”

“Do you need a lift too?” the man looked over to acknowledge Akira for the first time. 

Akira wondered if he should accept, considering being late to school on his  _ first day _ would not be pleasant for him or his social standing. But something about how the man spoke made him feel as if the offer was just a formality and that he really shouldn’t accept.

“No, thank you,” he said with a little wave. The man seemed satisfied and leaned back over into his own seat, rolling the window up as soon as the blonde girl was in the car. The look on her face made Akira question if he should’ve accepted the offer for another reason entirely.

_ How do they know each other? _ Akira thought.  _ Maybe relatives? But they were really formal with each other. _

It wasn’t five seconds they were gone before another person in a Shujin uniform came running up.  _ Everyone must take the same line, _ Akira thought.

Akira couldn’t catch all of the boy’s muttering, but heard him grumble “pervy teacher.”

_ Oh! He’s a teacher, _ Akira thought.  _ Oh. _

“Pervy teacher?”

The boy didn’t seem to like something about Akira, maybe his tone or stance. It wouldn’t be the first time. The boy’s face tensed up, and he leaned back on his heels, scanning Akira.

“What do you want? Gonna rat me out to Kamoshida?” he frowned.

“Who?” Akira considered throwing his hands up, trying to seem as non-threatening as possible so the boy would stop glaring daggers at him.

“That teacher—that was Kamoshida,” the boy’s anger seemed directed elsewhere, towards the street the car had just left from. “Don’t you go to Shujin? How do you  _ not _ know him?”

“I’m new,” Akira said. “Transfer student.”

“Oh! No wonder then,” he seemed satisfied, for some reason. “C’mon, then, we’re gonna be late. I know a shortcut.”

_ He’s inviting me to walk with him? _ Akira thought.  _ I thought he was going to start a fistfight with me just a second ago. _

“Pull your jacket over your head, like me,” the boy grinned. Akira realized the Shujin jackets had no hoods, meaning… When he looked over to the other boy, he had pulled the collar of his uniform jacket over his head, forcing his arms up like a scarecrow.

“I’ll chance it with the rain,” Akira replied goodnaturedly. 

The boy led him through an alleyway or two, cutting through the city.

“What’s your name?” the boy asked as he shimmied past a dumpster in a particularly tight alley.

“Akira Kurusu,” he replied. “And you?”

“Ryuji Sakamoto.”

They didn’t talk the rest of the way, but the silence was amiable. Occasionally, Akira would nearly trip, and Sakamoto would laugh at him, but the walk was filled with the sound of the rain besides that. 

“This is the last turn,” Sakamoto said, stepping through yet another alleyway. But Akira could see the gates of Shujin on the other side of it, and checking his phone, the bell hadn’t rung yet, so Akira figured following Sakamoto had been a good idea.

A low  _ hiss _ nearly caused Akira to tumble over. Razor-sharp claws at his ankle  _ did _ cause him to jump backward, flying onto the ground screaming. Sakamoto ran to his side, swatting at a cat who now bit at Akira’s shoe.

“Shoo! Outta ‘ere!” Sakamoto yelled at the offender.

The cat decided the two weren’t worth its time, and it skittered away, still hissing.

“Think you stepped on its tail,” Sakamoto explained, offering a hand to Akira to pull him back up. Akira noticed at that moment that his entire backside was wet from lying on the ground. Sakamoto noticed the frown on his face, then circled Akira, assessing the damage.

“You think we’re the same size?” Sakamoto asked. “You can borrow my jacket, if ya want.”

Akira was taken aback.

“Sakamoto, thank you, but it’s okay,” Akira laughed nervously.

“Nah, I insist,” Sakamoto smiled as he slipped off his own jacket. “No one ‘ill even care if I’m out of dress code.” 

“Because of your hair?”

“Yeah, the teachers always get on my ass about it,” Sakamoto explained. “Who cares if I bleach it? Takamaki’s blonde too, she’s just foreign.”

“Takamaki?”

“Yeah, that girl with Kamoshida.”

The topic was dropped when Sakamoto handed Akira his jacket.

“Thank you again,” Akira said as he slipped it on. 

“Yeah, just catch me after school today, so I can get it back from ya,” Sakamoto said.

Akira watched as Sakamoto sauntered off, with his school pants as the only remaining part of his appearance in dress code. 

He watched that teacher, Kamoshida, who was waiting at the gates give Sakamoto a nasty look. Kamoshida opened his mouth to comment but obviously thought it not worth his time. Instead, he addressed Akira, who wasn’t far behind Sakamoto.

“Hey, are you the transfer student?” he asked. Akira nodded in affirmation. “I wouldn’t get involved with Sakamoto, kid. He’s bad news. It’s worse to owe him any favors.” Kamoshida nodded to the jacket.

“Ah, thank you for your concern,” Akira bowed slightly.

Kamoshida made a noise, a sort of  _ harumph _ as if to signal to Akira that he knew he was being bullshitted. 

-

Classes were odd to sit through. They were actually quite similar to his ones back home, same subjects, of course. Even his teachers acted in predictable ways, and in some of his classes, he had even already learned the material.

He spotted Sakamoto near the stairs.

“Hey, Akira! Was worried I missed you,” he grinned. Akira went to take the jacket off, handing it to Sakamoto and taking his now dry one out of his bag.

“Did the teachers give you too much trouble?”

“Eh, my homeroom teach’ gets on me for my hair every  _ day _ ,” he shrugged. “This gave her somethin’ different to whine about.”

“I hope you don’t get written up,” Akira frowned. “I’d feel awful.”

“You mean for detention? I just don’t show up.”

Akira was a little taken aback. Sakamoto really  _ was _ a bad influence. Wasn’t this school supposed to be highly prestigious? 

Sakamoto deflated a bit from the look of shock on Akira’s face.

“It ain’t as bad as it seems…” Sakamoto tried to laugh off the tension in the air. “C’mon, you’re new to town, right? Let me take you out to eat.”

“Oh, no, I can’t accept. I don’t have any money,” Akira explained.

“Don’t worry, I’ll pay,” Sakamoto tugged his arm towards the staircase, his mind made up.

“You really don’t have to do that for me, Sakamoto!” Akira still let himself be tugged.

“Nah, I don’t do formalities, so you’re gonna have to drop the ‘Sakamoto’ shit real quick if you want a beef bowl.” 

Akira decided not to comment on the fact that Sakam—Ryuji respected some formalities, considering he called that blonde girl Takamaki. Then again, he refused to add the ‘-senpai’ honorific when talking about Kamoshida.

Akira finally let himself be dragged to a beef bowl shop on Central Street.

“Did Kamoshida get on your ass this mornin’?” Ryuji asked.

“Just a little,” Akira shrugged, looking over the menu. A barbeque bowl sounded good… But he’d have to get a medium one, to be polite to Ryuji’s wallet.

“What’d he say? Something ‘bout how I was a ‘bad influence’?” Ryuji frowned.

“Something like that,” Akira watched Ryuji’s face fall. “I didn’t say I’d take his advice.”

“Oh! Bros then?”

“Bros.”

Akira spent a few more moments staring at the menu, with Ryuji sipping on his soda, waiting for him to be ready.

“I was thinking the barbeque bowl,” Akira pointed to the item on the menu.

“No, no, dude,” Ryuji looked almost  _ offended _ at the idea. “You have to get the beef bowl on your first visit. You can branch out from there, but you have to start with the signature dish.”

Akira laughed a little at his enthusiasm.

“I’m serious! And I’m paying, so I’m buying you a large beef bowl.”

“I don’t need a large, it’s okay!” Akira got out between giggles.

“Take some home, for all I care, but  _ I’m _ getting a large, and I’m not skimpin’ on my guest!”

Akira said goodbye to Ryuji and headed home that evening with a belly full of good food (Ryuji was right about the beef bowl) and a tiny smile. 

“What’re you grinning about?” Sakura asked him as he entered the café. “Up to no good already?”

“No, sir,” Akira shook his head. “May I use your fridge for leftovers?”

“Sure, have at it,” Sakura said and waved his hand dismissively. “I’m closing up in a few minutes. After I lock up, you can’t just go wandering the streets, got it?”

“I’m going to run over to the laundromat before you go,” Akira explained. “I got my jacket dirty.”

“On your first day? You’re lucky it’s black—won’t stain.”

Akira went to change into a pair of casual clothes, his school clothes a bundle in his arms. He noted how inconvenient this was, but decided not to complain to Sakura.

“Here, kid,” Sakura stopped him on his way out, handing him a large blue jug. “The detergent over at the laundromat will make your skin break out; it’s awful. Use mine.”

Akira smiled and took the jug, thankful for the gesture.

While sitting on a stool next to one of the washing machines, waiting for his clothes to finish, Akira heard a happy  _ mew. _

A cat slinked around the corner, into the doorway of the laundromat, before it jumped gracefully onto the washing machine. It curled up on the lid, purring happily and settling in. Akira immediately recognized it as the same cat that bit him that morning. It cracked an eye open at him, staring at his face for a moment, before curling back in. Akira got the sense it recognized him too, but for whatever reason was allowing bygones to be bygones.

“Is the washing machine warm?” Akira asked him. The cat replied with a meow that sounded very much like a  _ yes. _

When his cycle was done, he had to shoo the cat off the lid so he could retrieve his clothes. As the heat diminished on the washer, Akira felt pity for the poor thing and put a quarter in to have it run an empty load. Just so the cat could be warm for a bit longer. He was  _ so  _ going soft. 

Once Akira’s clothes were dried, he gathered them into his arms and made his way back across the street to LeBlanc. The cat stayed purring on the washing machine. As Akira was falling asleep that night, he realized Shujin was a whole train ride away from LeBlanc, and he found himself wondering how the cat had trekked that considerable distance.

-

The next day, he realized the cat was following him, peeking at him behind corners, but staying close, apparently enamored with...something about Akira. When Akira reached the train station, the cat hid under a nearby vending machine, right up until the train’s doors opened, where he made a mad dash into the train and under the seats, unseen. Soon, the train was so packed that, even if he had wanted to, Akira couldn’t have bent down to see the critter. He didn’t see the cat get off at first, and he worried that maybe the thing was stuck on the train during rush hour, but Akira felt that little black cat happily curling its tail around his leg as he arrived at Shujin. He looked down at it to see it  _ mew _ happily at him.

When he stopped to admire the odd cat, it leaped up in the air to paw at the bag around his shoulder.

“What do you want, buddy?” Akira opened the bag to look inside. Did he have catnip stashed there or something?

He saw his leftovers from last night, a bit of rice and beef in a little tupperware container he had packed for lunch.

“Do cats like beef?” he asked himself. The cat seemed to have an opinion on the matter though, as he started yowling loudly, as if saying “Yes! Cats do like beef!”

“Fine, fine,” Akira laughed, taking a piece of beef out with his fingers and handing it to the cat. “Now, you have to stop tracking me.”

The cat didn’t reply, ripping the beef in two with his paw and teeth. Akira walked on to school, luckily free of the kitty.

“You shouldn’t feed strays,” a girl joined his walk to the school gate. It was the same blonde girl from his first day. Takamaki, he thought Ryuji had said. “They’ll come back.”

“He followed me on the train, actually,” Akira explained.

“Oh, he knows you’re the type,” she shook her head jokingly. Akira gave her a look of confusion. “Cats know when you’re the type of person who feeds strays.”

“Is that a good or bad thing?” Akira asked.

“Shouldn’t I be asking  _ you _ that? You’re the one with the little furry stalker.”

“I don’t mind it,” Akira shrugged.

“Have I introduced myself yet?” the girl asked. “I’m sorry, that was rude of me. I’m Ann Takamaki.”

“I’m Akira Kurusu,” Akira held his hand out to shake Takamaki’s. She accepted with a smile.

They walked to class together, talking about the moralities of feeding strays, up until they reached their classroom, only to hear the whispers of their classmates around them.

“Is the new kid going for Kamoshida’s bitch?”

“Bad move on his part.”

“No, that’s not just a ‘new kid.’ Did you hear why he transferred?”

“I heard he killed someone.”

“No, he got sent off ‘cuz he got into drugs!”

“Wait, wasn’t it fo—”

Takamaki cut through Akira’s intent listening.

“They don’t  _ ever _ shut up,” she frowned. “Don’t worry, they’ll find someone new to pick on soon enough.”

That wasn’t exactly comforting, but what really bugged Akira was, how did they know about his criminal record? Sure, those rumors could just be wild speculation, but how often did a kid transfer due to court order as opposed to completely normal circumstances? Someone had to have leaked it.

Takamaki slipped him a piece of paper with her phone number and chat ID on it. Akira added her, and she texted him immediately. 

Takamaki  
  
Don’t believe what they say about me and Kamoshida either.  
  
Please.  
  
I don’t.  
  
Thank you.  
  


Akira looked up to Takamaki’s desk, and she was nervously picking at her manicured nails, chipping off the red nail-polish.

Akira found himself following Takamaki out of the classroom and down the hallway at the end of the day, not quite sure where to go next. She didn’t mind, just waved him along.

“I’m going to go say hi to my friend Shiho before her practice,” Takamaki explained. “You’re welcome to tag along.”

In the practice building, Takamaki spotted Shiho. She had been frowning at her gym bag, standing in front of the locker room before Takamaki arrived. However, her expression brightened when she saw Takamaki.

“Shiho! Heya!” Takamaki grinned at her friend. “About to head to practice?”

“I was thinking about that, actually. Ann, I have to talk to you about someth—” the athlete noticed Akira’s presence. “Hello, I don’t think we’ve met.”

“This is Kurusu, he’s in my class,” Takamaki explained. “You wanna go somewhere else and talk? I don’t mind.”

“Oh, no, it’s okay, I’ll tell you later,” Shiho smiled. “Nice to meet you, Kurusu, I’m Shiho Suzui.”

Suzui let out a long sigh.

“I guess I’m off to practice, Ann,” she waved. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Don’t forget, I’m bringing you breakfast tomorrow,” Takamaki grinned. “We can eat before school.”

“Let’s hope you’re not cooking it,” Suzui teased, then disappeared into the locker rooms.

“She gets on my case, but I’m really not that bad of a cook,” Takamaki huffed. “Well, anyways, I’m heading home.”

“See you later,” Akira waved.

“Yeah, bye!” Takamaki walked away.

Akira returned to the classroom building, hoping to find Ryuji waiting for him at the stairs. He was, picking at chipping paint on the wall behind him.

“Hey, Akira!” Ryuji waved him down. “Wanna walk home together?”

“That’s why I came to find you,” Akira nodded, heading down the stairs with Ryuji in tow. 

As soon as they stepped outside and onto the street, Akira felt a familiar tail curl around his leg.

“Woah, is that the cat that bit ya?” Ryuji jumped.

“Yeah, it is, but it’s super friendly now,” Akira shrugged.

“Maybe it's apologizin’,” Ryuji laughed. Akira elbowed him.

The cat continued to trail behind the two as they walked.

“I saw you with Takamaki. She’s in your class, right?” Ryuji asked.

“Yeah, she is,” Akira replied. “Nice girl.”

“When you don’t know her,” Ryuji laughed. “Kiddin’, just kiddin’. We used to be close in middle school, and  _ jeez _ , she could nag.”

“Aw, childhood friends,” Akira teased.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ryuji rolled his eyes. “You teasin’ me for having  _ friends _ ?”

“Very cringe, knowing others,” Akira laughed.

“Your insults could use some work,” Ryuji stuck his tongue out.

“Yeah, but anyways…” Ryuji continued. “Have you noticed anything off about her?”

“I don’t really know her that well,” Akira started. “But she did seem pretty upset about the rumors going around about her.”

“Don’t blame her,” he frowned.

“She told me not to believe anything I heard about her and Kamoshida.”

“Ugh, that’s  _ so _ shitty!” Ryuji kicked a rock, startling the stray. “She’s not like that, I know she’s not.”

“Like what?”

“She’s not sleeping with him, alright?” Ryuji was practically growling at that point. “Not voluntarily, at least.” 

Akira’s heart shot up. That’s—no, a teacher? He wouldn’t.

“Surely, that’s not…” Akira said, exasperated. “He’s a  _ teacher… _ ”

“You don’t know what that shitbag is like!” Ryuji hissed. “I don’t care if you believe me. Whatever.”

“No, I believe you!” Akira exclaimed. “I’m just...shocked.”

“Suzui too. Something’s wrong with her,” Ryuji looked like he was about to pop a blood vessel. Then, suddenly, the blood drained from his face, and he looked as if he was about to cry. “And Mishima, too, I’d bet ten-thousand yen on it.”

“W-who?” Akira was still in shock.

“All my old friends from middle school,” Ryuji’s face was scrunched up, and he had completely stopped walking. “Even me.”

“You?”

“He broke my leg, just—” Ryuji made a kicking motion with his good leg, hiking his knee high in the air, then sending his foot down, landing hard on a rock. 

Akira didn’t know what to say at that point.

“But that’s why no-one defies his ass,” Ryuji hung his head. “They all watched me on crutches for months, with Kamoshida high and mighty as ever.”

“They didn’t fire him?”

“Didn’t even come close,” Ryuji sighed. “Not like my Ma could pay to take it to court, anyways.”

Akira, at a loss for words, silently put a hand on Ryuji’s shoulder. The look Ryuji gave him back was that of a wounded puppy. He desperately wanted to offer Ryuji a solution, but none came to mind.

They boarded the train in relative silence, besides acknowledging the cat slipping in after them. Then, Ryuji got off earlier than Akira, and Akira was left alone to think about his new friends and their predicament.

Right before he walked through LeBlanc’s doors, his phone chimed with a message from Ryuji.

Ryuji  
  
srry to dump all tht shit on you  
  
We’re friends. You can tell me stuff.  
  
thanks man!  
  


-

A few days passed without incident. Every day, Takamaki waved at him before class started. Every day, Takamaki would leave as soon as the bell rang to catch Suzui before practice. Every day, Ryuji waved him down near the stairs, and every day, they walked home together. The cat usually tagged along, getting scraps from both of their lunches, and occasionally an actual can of cat food from the convenience store when Ryuji and Akira felt particularly compassionate.

Akira was pulled out of a daze one day in class as he heard the other students all groan.

“Oh, stop it,” Kawakami rolled her eyes. “It’s a volleyball rally, not the end of the world.”

“I was zoned out,” Akira leaned up to whisper in Takamaki’s ear. “What’s going on?”

“Volleyball rally tomorrow, it’s a half-day, change into your gym clothes here,” she quietly gave him the rundown. 

The volleyball rally was boring, of course. A teacher versus student game would’ve almost been interesting if Kamoshida wasn’t playing. The man had an Olympic gold medal in volleyball. High-school athletes stood no chance.

He was particularly relentless with a short boy. Akira had seen him around. They were in the same homeroom. Ryuji was yawning as Akira watched that boy be hit by a volleyball, flung back hard, hitting his head on the faux wood gym floor. A hush fell over the gym immediately after the hit.

Kamoshida actually looked a bit concerned as he jogged to the boy’s side, asking if he was alright, then calling for the nurse. Then, as quickly as it came, the teacher’s worry was gone, and he called for the game to continue. Ryuji tensed up.

“That’s it,” Ryuji stood up. “We have to get to the bottom of this.”

“The bottom of what?” Akira asked, following him out the gymnasium doors.

“What’s going on with Mishima,” Ryuji said. “And Suzui, and Takamaki. I can’t watch this anymore.”

“What’s the plan then?” Akira asked, and Ryuji’s face lit up.

“You’re really down to help me?” Ryuji stared until Akira nodded his head. “Alright then, well. I know Mishima won’t talk to us.”

“How come?”

“I like him, I really do, but… He’s a bit of a pushover.”

“Hm.”

“I mean, I did the same thing, before Kamoshida...y’know. I used to keep quiet about it. I bet Mishima wouldn’t even speak up if he got hurt like me, though,” Ryuji looked up to Akira giving him a look. “What? I’m not tryin’ to be mean, I’m serious.”

While the volleyball rally continued on in the gym, the two attempted to track down other members of the volleyball team. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re just trying to start something, aren’t you, Sakamoto?”

“I had a nasty fall, that’s all.”

“Of course, our practices are tough, man. We’re training for nationals.”

The team  _ said _ no, over and over, but soon a pattern formed: those who were on the volleyball team were heavily bruised when compared to members of other sports. For every volleyball member Ryuji recognized and flagged down, Akira grew sicker at the stomach. They  _ all _ had injuries.

Akira pulled Ryuji around a shoe locker, talking lowly.

“Those injuries aren’t normal, right?” he asked, worriedly.

“No, not at all,” Ryuji looked  _ devastated _ .

“What do we  _ do _ ?”

“I don’t know, man. Nobody will even talk about it.”

The bell rang, signaling the end of the volleyball matches.

“We have to catch Mishima before he leaves,” Ryuji said.

“Will he talk to us?” Akira asked, being tugged along by Ryuji.

“Sure, he will. We were friends, y’know. When we were kids.”

Mishima was walking out the front door when Ryuji waved him over.

“Yuuki!” Ryuji called. Mishima just about jumped out of his skin at the sound of his given name. 

“Hello, Sakamoto, how are you?” he asked timidly, slowly inching towards the door as if he was going to make a dash for it.

“Don’t be so polite,” Ryuji rolled his eyes. “Hey, listen, man, you’ve got to give us the scoop on Kamoshida.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mishima responded.

“Really? Saw you take a nasty hit today.”

“Well, that was my fault, I zoned out.”

“But still, your bruises,” Ryuji gestured to the wrap on his arm and the gauze on his cheek. “That’s not normal.”

“N-no, it’s perfectly normal,” Mishima held his hands up, unconvincingly surrendering. “You were just never in volleyball, Sakamoto. Track is pretty differe—”

“Is he forcin’ you to keep quiet?” Ryuji finally barked out. The hallway around them went quiet for a moment, as people acknowledged the yell and turned their way, and then went back about their business.

“C’mon, Sakam—”

“What’s going on over here?” Kamoshida rounded the corner as if summoned by the hint of his exposure. “Was that you yelling, Sakamoto?”

“Yeah,” Ryuji shrugged and Kamoshida squinted at him.

“Heading home?” Kamoshida looked at Mishima’s hand in his shoe locker. “Isn’t it time for practice, Mishima?”

“I wasn’t feeling well today,” Mishima lowered his head. Akira suddenly felt terrible. No wonder Mishima was trying to slink out the door so quickly.

“Are you sure you’re cut out for the team then?” Kamoshida asked. “You’ll never improve if you keep flaking out.”

“He said he wasn’t feelin’ good,” Ryuji stood in between Mishima and Kamoshida, staring up at the teacher.

Kamoshida completely ignored Ryuji, looking through him as if he was glass, straight to Mishima.

“What’ll it be?”

“It’s okay, Sakamoto. I’ll go,” Mishima sighed.

That seemed to sate Kamoshida, and he left without another word. Though he took a moment to glare at Akira.

“Just stop it. It’s useless,” Mishima sighed, letting his shoulders sag.

“What? No!” Ryuji raised his voice again until Akira signaled him to bring it down. “We can’t just ignore this.”

“Yes, you can. C’mon, just one more year, then we’re out,” Mishima’s face fell as he said that. “Well, more like two. But still. You of all people should know not to stand up to him.”

Ryuji’s face fell.

They changed back into their uniforms and walked out together, quiet and melancholy. 

“Hey, Sakura gave me some allowance,” Akira nudged Ryuji as they left the gates.

“Who’s Sakura?”

“Oh, he’s my caretaker while I’m here in Shibuya,” Akira complained. “But I’m going to use the money he gave me and blow it on treating you to ramen.”

“Huh?” Ryuji quirked an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because you’re sad, and we haven’t had lunch yet.”

Ryuji stretched, popping his back.

“It’s a crime that school ended before lunchtime. Show me the way then!”

-

A meal with Ryuji and a night’s sleep rejuvenated Akira’s mind, and as he ate breakfast (curry, made by Sakura), he felt the gears in his head moving, thinking of how to take down Kamoshida. It had to be a way that hadn’t been attempted before. It had to be quick, and he knew he couldn’t go through adults to get it done.

A loud  _ meeeeoww _ and scratching at the café’s door brought Akira back to reality.

Sakura grumbled and stood up to go shoo the cat away.

“That cat’s been following me around for a week,” Akira commented.

“Stray fell in love with you, eh?” he frowned, thinking. “Well, I can’t have it making a racket outside the café. If you want to keep it, you can. But it has to stay upstairs during store hours, and it has to stay quiet.”

Akira lit up, surprised at Sakura’s kindness.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t say I never did anything for you,” he waved him off.

The cat rushed in as soon as Sakura opened the door, deliberately brushing against furniture and eventually burying its face into Akira’s pant leg.

“I’m headed to school, buddy,” Akira reached down from the countertop to scratch its head. “You coming with me?”

“Have you named it?” Sakura asked.

“No, actually,” Akira looked around the room for inspiration. His eyes landed on the small collection of books Sakura kept on the counter. His eyes scanned the spines, landing on an author named “Morgana.”

“Well, what  _ are _ you going to name it?”

“Morgana,” Akira answered. 

Sakura let out a little puff of air, noncommittal and un-opinionated to Akira’s choice.

Morgana was also relatively uninterested in the choice, but if you asked Akira, the name fit just fine.

-

Towards the end of the week, Akira was on his normal route back to the café, thinking about the homework slated for him that night and dreading it. He peeked through the heavy crowd to see Takamaki. He raised a hand to wave at her, maybe ask her if she had plans for the afternoon, to distract him from that homework, but then he saw that she was on the phone. He overheard her arguing, then she fell into a squat, hugging her knees. Her phone clattered to the ground, and Akira picked it up right before a suited man could step on it.

“You dropped this,” Akira knelt down to Takamaki, holding the phone out to her. She looked at the electronic in his hand as if it would burn her.

“Thanks,” she stuffed it in her bag. Then, she shifted as if she was going to stand up, but instead pressed her face to her knees.

“What was that about?”

“What’s your problem? Don’t you know it’s rude to eavesdrop?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“No,  _ I’m _ sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Akira prodded.

She sighed shakily.

“Maybe, I can’t tell.”

“Can I buy you a snack?” Akira asked. “Or some juice?”

“I could go for a soda, yeah,” she stood up shakily, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands.

They took the short walk to Big Bang Burger, and luckily, a small booth in the corner was empty. Takamaki ordered a soda, something diet, and Akira got water. 

“You’ve heard the rumors, haven’t you?” Takamaki asked. “About me.”

Akira nodded.

“They aren’t true,  _ at all, _ ” Takamaki said as she tore a napkin to shreds nervously. “That was him on the phone.”

The ice in Takamaki’s soda resettled, clinking loudly in the quiet restaurant. 

“He told me to come to his house,” Takamaki had finally destroyed the napkin, ripping the last piece big enough to get her fingers around. Now, white confetti lay across the table that separated Takamaki and Akira.

Akira didn’t have to be told what that meant.

“He’s been threatening Shiho’s starting position,” Takamaki started to cry. “I’ve been trying to grin and bear it for Shiho, but I don’t know if I can anymore. This is  _ too far. _ But… Shiho’s all I have left.”

Akira wanted to reach across the table, to comfort her in some way. But they were barely acquaintances, not even friends.

“What should I do?”

Akira opened his mouth to answer, and he was glad Takamaki cut him off, because whatever he was about to supplement wouldn’t have been enough to dull her pain.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,” she wiped away tears. “It’s not your problem.”

“Takamaki…” Akira tried to meet her eyes, but she kept them down.

“Thank you for the drink, Kurusu,” Takamaki stood up. “I’m going to go home.”

“That’s a good idea,” Akira said lamely.

“Yeah. Don’t worry about me,” Takamaki gave him a little smile. “I don’t give up that easy.”

Akira stared into his drink for a few minutes after she left, thinking and thinking and  _ thinking. _ Would going straight to the police help? But everyone who could back up his story was staying quiet, and he wasn’t supposed to cause trouble on probation. “Falsely” accusing someone of physical abuse would get him sent to juvie quick. Ryuji’s word wasn’t worth very much either. An employee eventually tapped him on the shoulder, asking if he was alright, and he took that as a cue to head home.

-

Akira didn’t even know what to think about or how to process the following day. One moment, he was in class, half-listening to the lecture by Mr. Ushimaru, and the next moment, Takamaki was on her feet, sprinting to the window opposite the classroom.

Ambulances were there quickly for Suzui, and by the time Takamaki, Ryuji, and Akira had arrived at her side, she was already on a stretcher, weakly talking to Takamaki. But she was alive. Takamaki left with the ambulance, and the teachers ushered the students back into their homerooms, knowing that class would not be able to continue for the rest of the day.

Ryuji was off, though, running after a boy Akira had only caught a glimpse of. Akira, of course, followed him.

He found Ryuji with Mishima backed up into a corner. 

“Leave me alone!” Mishima cowered, holding his hands in front of him.

“What do you know? Spill it!” Ryuji barked. 

“We won’t rat you out,” Akira said.

Mishima’s face curled up into an ugly cry as he coughed out his—actually, Suzui’s—story. The physical punishment, the bad mood. He didn’t leave much to the imagination. 

“That son of a bitch…!” Ryuji was off like a rocket, leaving Akira and Mishima in the dust.

“He’s h-heading to Kamoshida, I’d bet,” Mishima stuttered out. “We have to stop him!”

They followed Ryuji’s trail, right up to the P.E. Office doors.

Akira’s hand was on Ryuji’s wrist as he reached for the door handle.

“Let go of me, man,” Ryuji bared his teeth.

“No,” Akira looked him in the eyes. “This isn’t the way. He’ll just hurt you again.”

“Let  _ go _ of me!” Ryuji flung his other arm at Akira, hitting him with a lousy half-slap half-punch to the stomach.

“I’m  _ not _ letting you in that room!” Akira raised his voice, the first time he had been this loud in front of Ryuji. Both Mishima and Ryuji seemed a little taken aback by it. “We will find another way!”

“We don’t want to see you hurt too, Sakamoto,” Mishima said quietly.

Ryuji conceded, but not happily. He stormed off and down the stairs, presumably to leave early. Mishima and Akira drearily returned to class.

-

The next day, on the ride to school, Akira got a phone call from Ryuji.

“Are you almost to school?” Ryuji asked as soon as he picked up.

“I’m on the train right now. Why?” Akira responded.

“There’s cops turning kids away!” Ryuji exclaimed. “They’re saying they’re doin’ some sort of investigation there.”

“ _ What? _ ” Akira asked. “Why?”

“I don’t know! I’m askin’ around! Find me when you get here!” Ryuji hung up.

As he stepped off the train, he was suddenly caught by the arm. Looking over to his captor, he found Takamaki.

“Did you hear what’s going on at the school?” Takamaki asked desperately.

“Only that they’re turning students away,” Akira explained.

“Oh my G-d,” Takamaki pulled on her hair. “Oh my G-d.”

“What’s wrong, Takamaki?” Akira put a hand on her shoulder. “Talk to me.”

“I think it’s my fault,” Takamaki’s eyes darted around the station. “I think my  _ parents _ found out.”

“About Kamoshida?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Let’s go somewhere else to talk, okay?” Akira looked up to see a few passersby staring at them. “Is Big Bang Burger okay again?”

“I don’t really care,” Takamaki’s shoulders slumped.

Akira ended up texting Ryuji what happened, asking Takamaki if he could invite Ryuji along. Again, she couldn’t make herself care.

The three sat around a small metal table at the fast-food restaurant. Akira ordered Takamaki the same drink she got last time, and she seemed a little touched that he remembered her favorite.

“What’s goin’ on?” Ryuji asked.

“Well, you know how I went to the hospital with Shiho?” Takamaki asked. The boys nodded. “It was really late and the trains weren’t running. I had to call the nanny to pick me up.”

“You have  _ servants _ ?” Ryuji asked.

“No, they’re not servants. Do you think I’m some Victorian princess? My parents are always out, so I have a hired nanny and a housekeeper.”

“Continue,” Akira urged her on. 

“So, I had to call the nanny, and of course she wanted to know why I was at the hospital, especially so late at night. I just...broke down, I guess. I told her everything,” Takamaki sipped at her drink. “She must’ve relayed everything to my parents.”

“And your parents are very influential, right?” Akira asked.

“How’d you figure that?” Ryuji turned to Akira.

“She has maids,” he replied, deadpan.

“Kurusu’s right,” Takamaki sighed. “They’re fashion designers, world-famous. They’re not the most present parents, but… Well, they cared enough to take care of Kamoshida.”

“What do ya think they did?” Ryuji asked.

“They probably went to the school directly and threatened to go to the media with it, make it a big story,” Takamaki explained. “Then, the school got in contact with the police themselves.”

“That damn school could’ve done that this whole time, and it took some fashion designers to convince them to go through with it?” Ryuji’s lip curled up, leaning back in his chair.

“They were scared of their reputation being ruined,” Akira sighed.

“Shitty, so shitty,” Ryuji growled.

They sat in angry silence, mutually displeased.

“My parents have access to my phone records, when Kamoshida called and texted me. They’re planning on suing the shit out of Shujin if Kamoshida isn’t locked up tight, and they have the evidence to do it,” Takamaki said, some of the anger filtering out of her voice.

“The one saving grace is,” Ryuji commented, “that your parents get richer?”

Takamaki looked like she was going to comment, to try and refute his statement, but she just went quiet. It seemed as if she didn’t have the strength to argue.

“Let’s just go home,” Akira sighed. “We have a day off.”

Akira went back to his attic bedroom and fell asleep, as he suspected the others did as well.

-

He woke up a few hours later from his nap from a rowdy customer downstairs, exclaiming about something on the news, before Sakura firmly told him to quiet down, this was a café, not a bar.

Akira looked to his phone to see a few messages from Takamaki.

Takamaki  
  
My parents are home. They’re actually in the HOUSE.  
  
They’re trying to be nice to me.  
  
I told them I was going to go take a bath, but I’m just hiding.  
  
I don’t know how to deal with them being all parent-like.  
  


Akira felt a pang of companionship, as his parents had also been largely absent as soon as he was old enough to take care of his own needs. The texts were from an hour ago, Akira noted. He had apparently slept through the notifications.

Takamaki  
  
Are you feeling any better? Sorry I missed these, I was asleep.  
  
Yeah, they eventually went to sleep. Bad jet lag.  
  
Where did they fly in from?  
  
America. There’s a big show going on right now, but they totally dipped out.  
  
For me.  
  
My parents were largely absent as well.  
  
So, I sorta understand what you’re going through.  
  
Thank you, Kurusu. :D  
  


Akira finally pried himself from his mattress, heading downstairs to greet Sakura, and heading over to the bathhouse for a much-needed soak. He called Ryuji as he walked around the backstreets, peeking in shops and trying to chat idly. Avoiding the subject was hard, though, and eventually, Ryuji  _ had _ to talk about it.

“Do you really think he’s gone for good?” Ryuji asked. “This feels too good to be true.”

“ _ Deus ex machina _ ,” Akira said.

“Does-ex-what?” Ryuji squawked. 

“ _ Deus ex machina,  _ we learned about it in Mrs. Chouno’s class, remember?”

“‘Course not. That’s my nap class.”

“It’s Greek,” Akira explained. “When a writer didn’t know how to end a play, an actor playing a deity would come down from the rafters and save the day.”

“And it was too easy, right? Unsatisfyin’?” Ryuji asked.

“Yeah,” Akira sighed. “But maybe that’s just how things go sometimes. Not every conflict has a resolution arc.”

“Okay, okay,” Ryuji groaned. “Stop with all the English talk.”

“It’s really Greek talk.”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

Akira stopped to take a look at a neighborhood dog, happily playing catch with a young girl. The dog was beautiful, neatly trimmed, well-behaved. Akira smiled.

“I’m watching this corgi play catch right now,” he said into the phone.

“By itself?”

Akira laughed.

“No, with its owner.”

They sat in silence for another moment, just listening to the line filter and buzz, before Ryuji let out a long sigh.

“I’m sure it’ll feel real soon,” Akira attempted to comfort.

“I sure hope so.”

-

The school was closed the following Monday and Tuesday. The reason the school gave when they sent an email to the students was the attempted suicide, but rumors spread around that it was actually due to the investigation on Kamoshida. 

On Wednesday, when they returned, Akira noticed Takamaki’s empty seat. He sent her a quick, worried text.

Takamaki  
  
Are you feeling alright?  
  
Meet me at the Underground Mall after school. Bring Ryuji.  
  


Akira found Ryuji in his usual spot near the stairs and told him about their meeting place with Takamaki. On the way over, Morgana joined them, begging for scraps. Akira promised him canned tuna as soon as they got home, and in response, the cat leaped into his arms, crawling onto his shoulders and perching there, even as he continued to walk.

The first thing Akira noticed about Takamaki was that she wasn’t in her uniform. He realized he had never seen her dressed down before. Even her hair wasn’t as intricately parted and fluffed. It was in a simple ponytail. 

Takamaki noticed Morgana, but she didn’t seem in the mood to joke. She gave Akira a quirked eyebrow.

“He’s clingy,” he shrugged. “You can pretend he’s not here.” Morgana hissed at that.

“We didn’t come over to show you some stray,” Ryuji said impatiently. “What’d you need?”

“First off, Shiho’s condition improved,” Takamaki smiled. “She hasn’t been awake much, but it’s no longer comatose.”

Akira and Ryuji smiled and clapped their hands for a few seconds, but stopped when they realized Takamaki had started sniffling.

“My parents are moving me to a different school,” she clenched her fists. “Gyosei High School. It’s still in the city, but they don’t want me to be in a school like Shujin. They think it’s too dangerous.”

“You’re leavin’?!” Ryuji exclaimed.

“It’s not my choice!” Takamaki yelled back. “I’d stay if I could.”

“I know, but…” Ryuji gave up on whatever he was going to say, sticking his hands in his pockets with a huff.

“I’ll still take the same train as you guys,” Takamaki supplemented. “Gyosei’s just on the other side of Main Street. We can still hang out.”

“We better!” Ryuji groaned.

“Maybe it’ll be a good thing,” Akira commented. “A fresh start.”

“The school’s kinda famous, actually,” Takamaki said thoughtfully, “because that teen celebrity—Goro Akechi—goes there.”

“Goro Akechi?” Ryuji asked.

“I think I’ve heard about him,” Akira placed his hand to his chin. “He’s on trashy daytime TV all the time.”

“And how do  _ you _ know that?” Takamaki teased.

“I like soap operas. I record them and watch them on the café TV after Sakura leaves for the evening,” Akira shrugged. “Akechi is usually in the talk shows in between.”

“Sakura?” Takamaki asked.

“Long story, he lives in an attic,” Ryuji smiled at Akira like he was sharing a secret.

“You guys...can call me Ann, okay?” she spoke up. “But not in public! And don’t be weird about it.”

“Roger that,” Akira said.

“Yeah, no problem,” Ryuji shrugged.

“I’m surprised you even called me Takamaki in the first place, Ryuji,” Ann poked at Ryuji’s side. “I thought we were childhood friends.  _ And  _ I thought you didn’t believe in honorifics.”

“Whatever,” Ryuji swatted back. “I can be a nice, respectable young man  _ sometimes _ !”

-

Kamoshida ended up in jail, for a much shorter time than any of the students would’ve wanted, but they’d take what they could get. Plus, there was no chance of him  _ ever _ working as a teacher again. The Takamakis’ lawyers would make sure of that.

That night, Akira found himself lying in bed, scrolling through his phone, before some dark figure knocked the air out of him with a blow to the stomach. He thrashed about, trying to knock the figure away, but it just dug its claws into him and hung on for dear life.

_ Claws? _

Oh, it was just Morgana. Rattled, pissed Morgana. But still, just a cat.

He offered his apologies to the furball, who didn’t seem to take them seriously. Still, it settled on his stomach and passed out, completely dead to the world in a matter of minutes. Akira spent a good portion of the night attempting to fall asleep on his back, hoping this would be the worst of the drama to befall him in this new city.


	2. Like or Like Like

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter just reads like a romantic comedy.
> 
> TWs for this chapter: talk of stalkers (from misunderstanding Yusuke's intentions).

Life without Ann was a bit duller. Well, life wasn’t  _ completely  _ without Ann; in fact, Ann decided biweekly outings were necessary for the group, to keep everyone close. For the past month or so, Ann had been dragging Akira and Ryuji out to new restaurants, different tourist-y sights, and  _ plenty _ of stores. Sure, shopping was fun, and Ann trying to “redefine” Akira’s look was actually pretty enjoyable. But Ryuji complained the entire time. Every time.

Eventually, Ann ran out of places to drag them too, but it didn’t matter too much to them, since they were all hanging out together. They had made a nice, cozy little group, and Akira felt very much at home with the two blondes. 

Then, Ann decided to expand.

“There’s a kid from my school,” she explained in a phone call one night,” and I want to invite him out with us. He seems so lonely.”

“What’s his name?” Akira asked.

“That’s a surprise!” Ann giggled. “He’s very polite, I bet he’ll mesh just fine! Can I  _ please _ invite him?”

“You don’t have to ask me. I’m not your dad,” Akira shrugged before he realized Ann couldn’t see his movements.

“C’mon, Akira, don’t be like that. Is it a yes or a no?”

“I don’t mind,” Akira said.

“Yes!” Ann exclaimed. “Okay, you’ll get to meet him tomorrow!”

They talked a bit longer, shooting the breeze. Ann complained that the school’s uniforms required her to wear a  _ vest _ . This vest was also beige, which she said clashed with her complexion. Akira reminded her to accessorize, as she had done with her Shujin uniforms, but she claimed it just wasn’t the same.

Akira had seen her in the uniform, and he thought she looked good. True, the beige, blue, and black of the uniforms didn’t allow her to stand out as much, but Ann could pull off any look, even an understated one. He told her this, but he could tell she didn’t quite believe him.

-

“Did Ann tell you she’s inviting someone new?” Akira asked Ryuji as they ate lunch.

“Nah, who?” Ryuji replied, his mouth full of the curry and rice Akira was sharing with him.

“She wouldn’t say,” he explained.

“I bet it’s her boyfriend,” Ryuji posited. “Or someone she likes.”

Akira was about to refute that, but Ann hadn’t given much of a reason for inviting the guy besides that he was lonely. Maybe he  _ was _ Ann’s crush.

They arrived at the movie theatre on Central Street after school, waiting for Ann to arrive with her mystery man from the other direction. Gyosei was just past Central Street, parked in the middle of the city like Shujin.

They spotted Ann, walking and chatting to a tall boy. He brushed his hair out of his eyes, and immediately, Akira recognized him.

“That’s Goro Akechi,” Akira hissed to Ryuji.

“That celebrity?”

“ _ Yeah, _ ” Akira quickly felt himself getting nervous, but he pushed it down. He’d just be sitting in the same movie theatre as the guy, nothing special. Plenty of people sat in the same movie theatre as celebrities. 

Ann pointed the two boys out as they approached, and Akira could see her mouth move to say “That’s them!”

“Hey!” she grinned as she approached. “How was school?”

“You sound like my Ma,” Ryuji rolled his eyes.

“I ask every day!” she countered.

“Yeah, but your  _ tone _ ,” Ryuji finally cracked a smile. “You kinda sound like an old lady.”

Ann flushed red and resorted to smacking Ryuji on the arm.

“This is Akechi,” she moved on. “We’re classmates.”

Akechi, who had looked positively lost until that moment, finally turned his eyes towards the group and smiled.

“It’s nice to meet you all,” he said politely and held out a hand to shake. Ryuji refused it, but Akira took it.

“Nice to meet you too. I’m Akira Kurusu.”

“This dolt is Sakamoto,” Ann rolled her eyes at Ryuji’s impoliteness.

“Fine, fine,” Ryuji took Akechi’s hand, giving it a firm shake. “Ryuji Sakamoto. I don’t need any honorifics.”

“Nice to meet you, Sakamoto-san,” Akechi held a straight face, before bringing his hand up to his mouth and laughing at Ryuji’s shocked expression. “I’m sorry, Sakamoto, but I don’t think I can call you by your first name. The police department really hammered home the importance of my speech. But I won’t be  _ too _ formal.”

“Works for me,” Ryuji rubbed his nose and wouldn’t meet Akechi’s eyes.

“We’re going to see The Cake Knight Rises,” Ann explained to Akechi. “Is that alright with you?”

“I’ve heard mixed reviews. I’m interested on which side of the spectrum I’ll fall,” Akechi tapped his chin. “What genre is it?”

“Did you bring us to a chick-flick?” Ryuji asked.

“No!” Ann exclaimed. “It’s an action movie.”

“About cake?” Akira asked.

“If you two  _ shut up _ ,” Ann hissed as she took a step towards Akira and Ryuji. Akechi politely looked away, twiddling his thumbs. “I will buy you popcorn.”

“Popcorn!” they both repeated.

Akira stood in line, waiting to buy his ticket, while Ann and Ryuji went inside to buy popcorn and save seats, leaving him alone with the famous detective.

“Are they always that energetic?” Akechi asked him.

“Usually,” Akira smiled fondly. “It’s never boring, though.”

“Sounds nice,” Akechi smiled.

Akira hoped what he was about to say didn’t sound terribly desperate.

“You’re welcome to hang out with us more,” Akira suddenly found it very hard to meet the detective’s eyes, as if he was looking right through him. “If you want, of course.”

“That’s a very kind proposition, Kurusu,” Akechi smiled. “We’ll have to see if I’m good company, won’t we?”

_ Completely dodged the offer _ , Akira thought.

Akira squinted at Akechi for a moment, and Akechi stared back, sizing each other up. 

“You didn’t give me an answer,” Akira tried to keep his voice light and joking.

“You’re a very interesting person, Kurusu,” Akechi dodged again. 

Suddenly, they realized they were at the front of the line, and Akechi squeezed past Akira to buy two tickets.

“You didn’t have to pay for my ticket. Why did you?” Akira said as he took the slip of paper Akechi handed him.

“You can pay for mine next time,” Akechi shrugged.

_ What is  _ up _ with this guy? _

They headed inside and into the darkened theatre. Right as they sat down, the opening credits started to scroll down the screen.

“What took you so long?” Ann asked.

“The people in front of us held us up,” Akira lied. “Credit card denied or something.”

Akechi’s eyes bore into the side of his head as he lied, and Akira felt as if he was trying to shame him for his dishonesty. Maybe the detective prince really  _ was _ concerned with justice, or whatever he claimed to care about on TV. Akira thought for a second that Akechi would stand up and announce Akira’s vile deception of his good friend Ann, but Akechi slowly tore his eyes away from Akira, back to the movie screen.

Overall, the outing was interesting. At the very least, Ann seemed pleased. She seemed to really enjoy the company of Akechi, which surprised Akira and Ryuji. 

“Thank you for bringing me out, Takamaki,” Akechi smiled as they stepped out of the theatre.

“What’s the verdict?” Ryuji asked.

“Huh?”

“Well, did you like it or not? You said you were interested to see ‘where you fell,’” Ryuji clarified.

“I thought it was  _ very _ childish,” Akechi explained. “But I’ve always loved superhero movies. So I enjoyed it. What about you all?”

“I liked the love interest,” Ann smiled. “How sneaky she was, the whole cat burglar trope.”

“I liked it,” Akira nodded.

“Yeah, it was pretty good,” Ryuji finally cracked a smile.

“Good to hear,” Akechi smiled a bit as well. Then, he pulled his sleeve back and went to check his watch. “And this is where I must take my leave. I have a meeting in fifteen minutes.”

“Thanks for coming with us!” Ann smiled and waved.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Akechi gave a short wave as he walked off.

“What a self-righteous…” Ryuji muttered.

“C’mon,” Ann looked at him sadly. “I thought that went well.”

“He was lookin’ down on me, I could tell,” Ryuji shoved his hands in his pockets, thumbing at the change as it rattled around.

That was hard to deny. It felt as if Akechi looked down on  _ everyone _ .

“I was really surprised when he accepted my offer,” Ann sighed. “I thought I’d practically have to drag him here.”

“‘Course he likes  _ you _ ,” Ryuji gestured to the air. “You’re both celebrities.”

“What kind of things do you two talk about?” Akira wondered.

“One of the first things I asked him was what mascara he used on camera,” Ann explained. “And he said he used  _ Suburban Decay _ , and their mascara is terrible. And I told him so.”

“What? Does the dude  _ like _ being told he’s wrong?” Ryuji questioned.

“He said he ‘valued my honesty.’”

“He hates liars,” Akira said quietly.

“What?”

“He hates when people lie,” Akira said again. “He looked like he could’ve  _ killed _ me when I lied to you, Ann.”

“Fits with his justice thing, but th—” Ann cut herself off. “Wait, when did you lie to me?”

“When you asked what took us so long. What  _ really _ happened was that Akechi and I talked in front of the theatre for too long.”

Ann didn’t seem too bothered by the white lie. Still, she put her hand on her chin as she thought about Akechi.

“People who lie a lot can see it in others, right?” Ryuji asked. “Or, are at least more paranoid ‘bout it.”

Ann and Akira looked at him for a second, impressed.

“You two don’t give me enough credit,” Ryuji laughed at their surprised expressions.

“You make a good point though,” Akira admitted.

“Well, he’s a celebrity,” Ann pointed out. “I bet he’s lying about a lot of stuff.”

“I bet he’s got some dirty secret,” Ryuji grinned. “Like he makes doujinshis in his free time or somethin’.”

“For what show?” Ann wondered.

“Probably Featherman, since he likes kid movies,” Akira butted in.

“I doubt he even has the free time to do stuff like that, though,” Ann explained. “Have you seen how much he’s on TV?”

“Was he on the Kamoshida case?” Ryuji asked. “I bet he gets a lotta air time if he can talk about a jailed teacher.”

“Ugh, are people really interested in that stuff?” Ann scrunched up her nose.

“Absolutely,” Akira shrugged. 

After loitering in front of the theatre for long enough, the group separated and started to head home.

-

Akira didn’t notice him because of the cat’s insistence on being pet  _ right that second _ . Ryuji didn’t notice him because he was Ryuji. Ann kept an eye on him, however.

It was mid-May, and the heat was just starting to roll into the city. Usually, it wasn’t too bad, but packed trains were hotter than ovens. They were out on another adventure, this time to LeBlanc’s free air conditioning and free-ish coffee. Everyone got coffee for free, but Akira had to don his apron and listen to Boss lecture him on  _ exactly _ how to pour. As if it made any difference.

They stepped off the train and out into the Yongen-Jaya station. As they rode the escalator, Ann kept looking over her shoulder nervously, hanging onto Akira’s sleeve. Akira, still, was tending to Morgana so that he wouldn’t make too much of a ruckus in the busy station.

“That guy got off,” she hissed. Akira’s attention was finally drawn away from his pet.

“What guy?” Akira asked.

“Idiot! Haven’t you been paying attention?” Ann slapped his arm. “That guy has been following me since we left Shujin.”

Akira and Ryuji started to look back at whoever she was talking about, but she stopped them with a shrill whisper.

“Don’t look  _ now _ ,” Ann said. “We just have to lose him.”

“C’mon, now I’m curious,” Ryuji asked.

“If he follows us to LeBlanc, we can call the police,” Akira tried to soothe Ann. “Boss won’t let anything happen to you.”

The mention of Sakura, as gruff as he was, seemed to calm Ann. Her shoulders dropped, and she limited her nervous glances.

The three walked briskly through the Yongen-Jaya backstreets and into LeBlanc. There were, thankfully, no other customers at the restaurant, and Akira ushered Ann into the back. The boys sat in a booth near the front of the café, waiting for the stalker.

Instead, a young boy opened the door gingerly, peeking inside, eyes catching on Ryuji and Akira.

Akira decided the boy was actually quite cute.

“Hello,” his voice was deep. “That girl you two were walking with. Where is she?”

Huh?

“You’re the stalker?” Ryuji hopped up out of the booth, ready to make a commotion. Boss lifted his head at Ryuji’s words.

“Yuh—what?” Akira looked completely blindsided. “He’s who?”

“The guy who was followin’ Ann!” Ryuji yelled. “Back me up here, Akira.”

“Oh my G-d,” Ann finally emerged from the back of the shop. “You can’t handle anything, can you?”

“He’s been stalkin’ you!” Ryuji retorted.

“Wouldn’t it have just been easier to say I went home?” Ann yelled back. “Instead of trying to  _ start a fight _ ?”

The boy looked positively lost.

“I don’t need you white knight-ing around for me, Ryuji,” Ann finally crossed her arms and huffed.

Ryuji looked like a kicked puppy, and Akira even felt a bit bad for him. 

“I would like to clarify,” the boy spoke again. “I am no stalker.”

“You followed me around!” Ann frowned. “Isn’t that the definition of a stalker?”

“That wasn’t my intention. I simply wanted to ask something of you, but I couldn’t catch up to you until now,” he explained.

“Hey, c’mon, man,” Ryuji stepped in between the boy and Ann, apparently completely forgetting Ann’s beratement. “Who the hell are you, anyways?”

“Forgive my poor manners,” the boy tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, and Akira noticed how  _ tall _ he was. He probably had a few good inches on Akira. “I am a fine-arts student at Kosei High. My name is Yusuke Kitagawa. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Akira Kurusu,” Akira held out his hand to be shaken before Ryuji slapped it down. 

“Dude,  _ you _ didn’t have to introduce yourself,” Ryuji groaned.

“Nice to meet you, Kurusu,” Kitagawa gave him a small smile. Then, he continued. “I am a pupil of Ichiryusai Madarame, and I am training my artistic skill under his tutelage.”

“Oh, wait, I’ve heard of him,” Ann piped up. “He’s famous!”

“Yes, Madarame-sensei is very well known,” Kitagawa smiled. “He is an expert in traditional Japanese mediums.”

“So, what do you need from me?” Ann asked.

“I’d like to ask you to be the model for my next art piece,” Kitagawa flung his arm out, almost hitting the yellow payphone on the counter.

“Watch it over there!” Sakura called.

“My apologies, sir,” Kitagawa dipped into a bow. Akira could hear Boss mutter something about good manners. Kitagawa turned back to Ann. “I saw you on the train, and I simply had to paint you. I fear if I do not have you as a model, I may never be inspired to paint again!”

“C’mon, I’m sure it’s not  _ that _ —” Ann started.

“It’s true! No model will ever be sufficient besides you!” Kitagawa exclaimed. “Please, I only need a few hours of your time.”

Ann looked shocked, but she thought about it for a moment and seemed to decide on something.

“I’ll have to think on it,” Kitagawa’s face fell as Ann spoke. “ _ But _ we can exchange numbers, so I can call you if I decide to do it.”

This seemed to be enough for Kitagawa, and they exchanged contact information. He left the café with a skip in his step and a smile on his face.

Ann, Akira, and Ryuji practically collapsed into a booth. The Boss said something to them about the upholstery or just  _ being decent in his damn restaurant. _

“That was a helluva lotta work just for you to decide to  _ keep in contact _ with him,” Ryuji groaned from where he was pressed up against Akira in the small booths, face down and tangled together. Ann was in the opposite seat, also groaning against the plush couch.

“Whatever!” Ann’s face tightened into a scowl. “You don’t get it. It’s different for girls. I think he was just making an honest mistake.”

Akira reached across to Ann, under the table, and held her hand.

“At least Akira gets it,” Ann said solemnly.

“Because I’m so pretty,” Akira joked.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you  _ did _ get creeps,” Ann thought.

“I’m no fashion model, though,” Akira admitted.

“Mm,” Ann just grunted.

“So, love at first sight?” Ryuji asked.

“What?” Ann quirked an eyebrow. “He’s not my type.”

“I wasn’t talkin’ to you,” Ryuji lifted his head up, and finally, the three decided to sit up and talk like normal people. “I was talkin’ to Akira.”

Ann’s eyes lit up.

“So, you’re into artists!” she grinned.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Akira kept a straight face. 

“You were so flustered you couldn’t  _ talk _ when he walked through the door,” Ryuji teased. “Give it up, dude, he’s obviously your type.”

The group noticed Sakura take that as his cue to leave, retreating further into the kitchen to give the group privacy. Akira turned his face away, feeling heat spread across his face and neck.

“He was just very tall, it surprised me,” Akira said meekly. “And his eyelashes were long.”

“Oh, I see,” Ann smirked. “You’re into pretty boys.”

“Isn’t everyone?” Akira retorted.

“Good point,” Ann shrugged. “Listen. I’ll model for him, and I’ll ask if you can come along. That way you’ll get to talk to him some more.”

“What if he doesn’t want me there?” Akira furrowed his brows. “Plus, I just thought he was attractive. Plenty of people are attractive. There’s no need to go out of your way.”

“I’ve  _ never _ seen you so flustered!” Ryuji butted in. “I mean, I woulda thought some hotshot celebrity walked into the room.”

“Shut up,” Akira groaned.

“You’re not into  _ all _ pretty boys,” Ann teased. “You were  _ so  _ not into Akechi, it hurt.”

“Whaddya mean?” Ryuji asked.

“Remember?” Ann continued. “When we went to the movies, Akira looked like he was going to get into a fistfight with Akechi.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Akira waved his hand. “Akechi doesn’t count.”

“He  _ so _ counts,” Ryuji whined. “He’s so popular because he’s pretty!”

“I’m just saying, that artist boy was special,” Ann shrugged.

“I bet he’d say yes,” Ryuji grinned. “If you asked him out.”

“W-what? You’re just saying that,” Akira jumped back in his seat in surprise. He hadn’t even considered asking him  _ out. _ Ugh, everything was happening too fast.

“I knew it! You’re straight-up blushin’!” Ryuji pointed at Akira’s red face. “But really, you should give it a shot.”

“Yeah!” Ann reached across the table and patted Akira’s arm. “For real, come with me when I go to model for him.”

Akira lowered his head and adjusted his glasses, refusing to meet his friends’ eyes.

“I’ll think about it,” he conceded.

-

Akira was on his morning commute to school when he ran into Akechi.

“Hello,” the detective waved politely.

Akira gave him a nod.

“Say, I was wondering,” Akechi put a finger to his chin, shifting his weight from one foot to another. “That teacher from your school—he was involved with Takamaki, correct?”

Akira shot him a look. “No.”

“Is that so? But wasn’t it  _ her _ parents who contacted the school?” Akechi asked.

“It’s not what you’re thinking, that’s what I’m saying,” Akira turned his gaze up to the boy. “You shouldn’t gossip. It’s rude.”

“Oh, I wasn’t meaning to gossip,” Akechi’s smile was a bit too toothy to be comforting. “She just lied to me when I asked her why she transferred.”

“Why are you complaining to me?” Akira asked. “She’s your friend, isn’t she?”

“Friends don’t lie to your face,” Akechi continued to smile, but Akira could see his leather glove grip the suitcase handle tighter, squeezing a groan from the leather.

“But I can’t blame her,” Akechi said, and suddenly, all the tension was gone from his body. “Probably trying to prevent rumors at her new school.”

“Probably so,” Akira said, hoping it would end the conversation.

“Well, this is my train, so—”

“Goodbye, Akechi,” Akira cut him off.

Akira  _ should’ve _ ridden the same train as Akechi. It was the one he was there to catch, but he couldn’t stand the thought of having to stand next to Akechi as he continued to prod. He’d just catch the next one and be a few minutes late.

When his own train finally came, Akira wondered if he should tell Ann that her shiny new friend was poking into her business with his resources at the police department.

“What should I do, Morgana?” Akira asked the cat in his bag. “Actually, don’t answer. I didn’t pay the pet fee.”

-

Akira received a text from Ann later that day.

Ann  
  
Kitagawa invited me to an art exhibition his teacher is hosting. It’s this Sunday.  
  
You’d get to see your boyfriend! :3  
  
He’s not my boyfriend.  
  
But yeah, I’m down.  
  
I’m actually kind of excited.  
  
You wouldn’t expect it from me, but I’m actually a bit of an art lover.  
  
I don’t doubt it.  
  
Really?  
  
Fashion is an art, and you’re fashionable.  
  
Awww!  
  
Do you want me to invite Ryuji?  
  
Sure!  
  


He passed the information on to Ryuji, and they agreed to meet at the train station near to the gallery the coming Sunday.

The gallery was large, filled to the brim with paintings of a variety of styles and mediums. It was almost hard to believe one man could be a master in so many art forms. Stanchions held up red velvet ropes, keeping the audience away from the masterpieces. The lighting on the paintings was delicate and warm, giving the room a golden glow that pulled in those viewing the building from the street. Around one of the pillars, Akira spotted Madarame himself being interviewed by a television station.

Kitagawa met them at the entrance, smiling as he saw Ann, faltering a bit when he saw Ryuji, and smiling again when his eyes landed on Akira.

“Hello,” he greeted. “I’m so glad you came. And you brought your friends.”

“Sorry, I don’t really know this area of town,” Ann explained. “But Ryuji does, so I needed directions.”

“I don’t k—” Ryuji started before Akira elbowed him.

“And Akira’s here because he just  _ loves _ art so much!” Ann patted Akira’s shoulder, then suddenly pushed him closer to Kitagawa, far into the artist’s personal space. “Can’t you tell? He’s just  _ starstruck _ .”

Akira wasn’t starstruck by the art gallery, no. He had found himself mere inches from Kitagawa, staring up at him. He froze, eyes huge.

“It’s so nice to see those with an eye for the fine arts!” Kitagawa clapped his hands together, snapping Akira out of his daze. He leaped back, putting at least two feet between himself and the artist, cursing Ann as he went. “I promise you, there is plenty of art here for you to admire. You will not get bored easily.”

“Yeah, right,” Ryuji groaned under his breath. “I’m already bored.”

“Would you three like a tour?” Kitagawa asked.

“I’m good,” Ryuji shrugged. “I’ll look around myself.”

Kitagawa looked to Ann and Akira.

“Sure!”

“Sounds good.”

Kitagawa led them around, first showing them a large multi-media self-portrait of Madarame, hung near the front of the gallery. Then they moved around the walls, as Kitagawa explained the media used for each of the paintings, along with any special techniques used. They eventually came to a corner in the room, and Ann stopped them. She turned to a painting of an aggressively red sunset, framed by stark black trees.

“Wait, look at this one, Akira,” Ann was a  _ terrible _ actor, so Akira could tell that she was genuinely enamored. “This one is so interesting.”

“Oh, you like that piece?” Kitagawa asked. “Well, it’s, um…”

“It feels so  _ angry _ ,” Ann exclaimed. “Like, I can feel frustration radiating off of it.”

“But it’s beautiful as well,” Akira posited.

“Yeah, it’s complicated, y’know?” Ann nodded.

“Maybe that’s what Madarame was trying to convey,” Akira said. “Complicated feelings.”

“...Is that so?” Kitagawa asked.

“He’s so gentlemanly, though,” Ann said. “Who knew he could make such an aggressive piece.”

Kitagawa looked away from them as they continued to talk. When Ann and Akira turned back to him, he looked troubled.

“Is something wrong, Kitagawa?” Ann asked.

“Oh, no, don’t mind me,” Kitagawa gave them a little smile. “Just lost in thought. I  _ am _ surprised you liked this one so much, though. I would consider it one of the weaker pieces in the gallery.”

“Really?” Akira asked.

“Come now, we’ve barely started. Save your analysis for Sensei’s  _ truly _ inspiring pieces,” Kitagawa waved them along, much to Ann and Akira’s confusion.

After another half-hour of admiring art, Kitagawa was finally satisfied with the two’s exposure. He walked them to the entrance, telling them that the gallery would be open for the next few weeks, and that there would be new pieces cycled through in the coming days. 

Right before their goodbyes, Kitagawa posed a question.

“Takamaki, have you thought about my offer at all?” Kitagawa asked. “I know I have no money to pay you for your time, but you are an art lover yourself. Surely, you understand the importance of a muse.”

Ann gave him a big smile.

“I would love to model for you,” Ann said.

“Really? That’s wonderful!” Kitagawa’s face lit up, and Akira had to turn his head to the side to prevent staring at his expression.

“One condition: I have to bring Akira,” Ann explained. 

Kitagawa’s excitement wasn’t dampened at all.

“That’s perfectly fine. I’d like to have him there, even. He has an artistic eye,” he  _ smiled _ directly at Akira as he paid him the compliment, and Akira thought he would faint.

“How soon can you join me?” Kitagawa continued. “My schedule is fairly flexible.”

“Hm,” Ann tapped her chin, thinking. “I’ll have to check my calendar, actually. Would it be okay if I texted you when I know?”

“Yes, of course,” Kitagawa said. “And I promise, I will find a way to compensate you for your time. This means the world to me, Takamaki.”

“Aww, I promise it’s no trouble!” Ann was visibly flattered by the kind words. “I’m a photography model already. It probably won’t even be that different!”

“So, that’s where that artistic eye comes from!” Kitagawa exclaimed. “I knew, right from when I first spotted y—”

“Yusuke!” a voice called. An old man walked up, and Akira recognized him as the face in the fliers, Madarame.

“Hello, Sensei,” Kitagawa turned to his teacher. 

“Are these your friends?” Madarame asked. “Nice to meet you both.”

“Yes, this is Kurusu, and this is Takamaki,” Kitagawa gestured to the two as he introduced them. “Is there something you need?”

“I got a call from home,” Madarame said. “Apparently, there was a problem transporting one of the paintings over here for tomorrow’s showing. Would you head back there and ensure everything runs smoothly?”

“Of course, Sensei,” Kitagawa nodded. He turned back to Ann and Akira. “I will be taking my leave. I hope you both have a nice evening.”

“Bye!” Ann waved.

As soon as Kitagawa was out of earshot, Ann turned to Akira and grinned.

“That shove was uncalled for,” Akira pouted.

“You mean when we got here?” Ann asked. “C’mon, that’s like, romantic comedy basics.”

“Yeah, but…” Akira was about to continue, before he realized. “Where’s Ryuji?”

“Oh, yeah, you have a point,” Ann looked a bit worried. “It’s been almost an hour, hasn’t it?”

Ryuji  
  
Hey, where are you?  
  
The accessway.  
  
We’re headed your way.  
  


Ryuji was staring out over the railing, looking at the passing cars, when Akira and Ann walked up.

“Sorry, was it too boring?” Ann asked.

“Nah,” Ryuji waved them off. “I just...I didn’t want to get in the way of Akira’s date or whatever.”

Akira frowned.

“You wouldn’t have been in the way,” Akira patted him on the shoulder.

“Kitagawa doesn’t seem to like me all that much,” Ryuji laughed.

“He’ll warm up,” Ann also looked worried. “C’mon, let’s get ramen.”

Akira and Ryuji knew Ann wasn’t the biggest fan of ramen shops. She liked more open-air seating, instead of crowded, steamy counters.

Ryuji took the hint that he was being doted on, and looked up directions to his favorite shop from the gallery.

-

It was an early Tuesday morning when Akira got a text from Ann, a few minutes before he usually woke up. The chirp of the phone disturbed both Morgana and him.

Ann  
  
Are you free this afternoon?  
  
I want to meet with Kitagawa for modeling.  
  
Why am I going again?  
  
Two words.  
  
Meet. Cute. You’re going to be MY escort and HIS attractive art assistant.  
  
Yes, I am free this afternoon.  
  
Okay! Pick you up at 3:30! <3  
  


Akira flopped back into bed, groaning into his pillow and savoring these last few minutes he was allowed to sleep, before he had to get up and get dressed.

“Morgana, what do I do?” Akira asked.

The cat didn’t even  _ meow _ his response. He just flopped over on his belly and flicked his tail around playfully.

Akira thought about Kitagawa, letting his mind wander for a moment. Kitagawa really  _ was _ pretty, but unintentionally so. Akira couldn’t imagine him putting any mascara on in the mornings, or styling his hair in any specific ways. His eyelashes were just naturally long and his hair was magically shiny and healthy.

“It’s not fair,” Akira muttered. He spent so much time making sure every hair fell into place, spent too much money on concealer and mascara and fancy shampoo. And somehow, Kitagawa effortlessly pulled off his own look without breaking a sweat. And he had effortlessly charmed Akira, which was even  _ more  _ annoying.

That afternoon, Akira walked out of the school gates to find Ann waiting for him. She was pulling at the skirt of Gyosei’s uniform.

“Isn’t it a crime?” Ann asked as they started their walk to the station.

“What?”

“That they make me wear beige  _ and _ khaki?” Ann gestured to the knit sweater vest and the pleated skirt.

“I’m telling you,” Akira rolled his eyes. “You’re not trying hard enough to customize it. The Shujin uniform is boring too, but you made that work.”

“You guys get to wear red plaid!” Ann groaned. “That’s interesting, at least.”

“Why don’t you lean into it?” Akira asked. “You could get some glasses and look bookish.”

“Bookish isn’t my brand though,” Ann explained. 

“Why would your school uniform affect your brand?”

“Sometimes I get called to jobs right after school, and I don’t want to change my look up so suddenly, for the magazines I work with.”

Akira relented. “The life of a model, I suppose.”

“Pity me, Akira,” she laughed.

They talked for a while longer and eventually arrived at the address Kitagawa had given them, but…

“Are you sure this is his place?” Akira asked.

“This is the address,” Ann pointed to the plaque next to the door.

Madarame was famous worldwide, but his house was anything but glamorous. The walls were metal plating, with rust likely being the only thing holding them together anymore, considering the amount of missing bolts and crooked panels.

“I’ll just ring the doorbell,” Ann said.

As soon as it buzzed, movement could be heard from inside, and an excited Kitagawa flung open the door.

“Takamaki! Kurusu!” Kitagawa smiled. “Come in, come in.”

Kitagawa led them through the narrow hallways of the house, into a room in the back. Dried paint speckled the floor, and a gigantic easel and canvas stood opposite from the door. He had a few stools set out and ushered them to sit.

“What kind of pose would you like me to do, Kitagawa?” Ann asked.

“I’d actually like your feedback, both of you, on that,” Kitagawa paced the room excitedly. “I am trying to capture your feminine beauty.”

“Oh, that’s very kind, but I’m not...interested,” Ann laughed nervously.

“No, I’m not sexually attracted to you, Takamaki,” Kitagawa said bluntly. “Artistically, though. Aesthetically, your features are objectively pleasing to the eye. Have you ever heard of the golden ratio?”

“Yeah,” she nodded.

“When I saw you, I instantly knew. Your features fell into the measurements of the golden ratio. Like da Vinci’s  _ Vitruvian Man _ !”

“Thank you...?” Ann said. “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

“I’ve been chasing this natural beauty all my artistic career,” Kitagawa turned back to his guests. “Have you heard of the  _ Sayuri _ ?”

“Can’t say I have,” Akira answered.

“One moment,” Kitagawa pulled out his phone, fiddling with it for a moment before pulling up a picture. The phone’s screen showed a painting of a woman, wistfully gazing downwards into a cloud of fog, with a little smile on her face. It was beautiful.

“It looks familiar,” Ann pursed her lips, thinking. 

“It was Madarame’s earliest masterpiece, the start of his worldwide fame,” Kitagawa explained. “It is also what inspired me to become an artist.”

“That’s so sweet, Kitagawa,” Ann smiled. “I’m honored.”

“May I start with just a sketch?” Kitagawa asked. “I’d like to get familiar with your appearance on paper.”

“Oh, of course,” Ann sat up. “Any poses?”

“Just look over to Kurusu. I’ll sketch your profile first,” Kitagawa instructed. He pulled out a charcoal pencil.

Ann and Akira made eye contact, and after a moment laughed at the awkward staring. Kitagawa didn’t seem bothered, fully entranced in the drawing.

They sat for a few more minutes, before Kitagawa violently scribbled over his drawing, turning to the next page in the sketchbook with a huff.

Another few minutes passed, and Kitagawa repeated this action, scribbling, then flipping. After he had done this four times, Ann spoke up.

“Is everything alright?” she said, still with her face turned to the side.

He didn’t answer, but his pencil finally stopped drawing, for just a moment, and then he resumed.

Finally, he lowered his pencil with a sigh, staring down at what he drew. Ann and Akira looked curiously at it.

The drawing wasn’t of Ann’s profile, but of Akira’s. The other half of the page contained a drawing that looked like Ann with the face scribbled out, as if he just  _ couldn’t _ get that right.

“It seems I am having trouble drawing you, Takamaki,” he sighed. “But I will continue to work and break through this block.”

“Is it my fault?” Ann asked.

“No, no,” Kitagawa frowned. “It is no one’s fault but my own.”

“May I take a break?” Ann asked. “Maybe get some water?”

“Of course, we passed the kitchen on our way in,” Kitagawa gestured towards the door. “Bottled water is in the fridge, I do not suggest using the tap.”

Ann looked a little worried as she stepped out, but as soon as Kitagawa was looking away, she gave Akira a wink.

“Well, the drawing of me looks really good,” Akira started. “You’re very skilled.”

“Thank you, Kurusu,” Kitagawa turned his sketchbook to face Akira, flipping through the drawings. On nearly every page, Kitagawa had given up on drawing Ann, scribbling over the sketch, but he had perfectly drawn Akira. He had even captured Akira’s laugh when he talked to Ann, when his eyes started to droop, and, embarrassingly, when he was staring at Kitagawa out of the corner of his eye.

“Why can I draw  _ you _ so easily, but not Takamaki?” Kitagawa asked himself.

“My face is just very common,” Akira said. “You’ve already drawn plenty of people who look like me.”

“No,” Kitagawa leaned in close, taking off Akira’s glasses and scanning over his features. Then, he pushed Akira’s bangs up and over his forehead, revealing an embarrassing number of pimples that usually hid behind his mop of hair. He didn’t attack the acne on his forehead with such ferocity as his cheeks, so it was clearly visible up there. He didn’t really expect people to be pulling his bangs around during his day-to-day.

“Kitagawa?” Akira asked after a moment of silence.

“Your face is asymmetrical,” Kitagawa stated.

Akira felt an embarrassed flush travel up his neck.

“Your nose points to the left, just slightly,” he inspected. “And when you close your mouth, your top lip falls to the right.”

Akira wondered how he could notice that, considering he was currently gaping like a fish.

“You have freckles, too,” he continued. “Why do you cover them up?”

“They’re not dark enough to be cute, just light enough to look like blemishes,” Akira explained.

“Hm,” the sound Kitagawa made was noncommittal, as if he couldn’t decide if he agreed or not.

Ann decided to use that moment to walk into the room, where she found Kitagawa’s hand deeply rooted in Akira’s hair, and their faces just inches apart. Akira jolted at her presence, but Kitagawa seemed unbothered.

“Stay still,” Kitagawa told him.

Even as Ann sat down next to them, Kitagawa continued to catalog and categorize every part of Akira’s face.

“Your eyes are so dark,” he muttered to himself. “Do you have a fever? Your skin is quite hot.”

Finally, he leaned back, satisfied with his study.

“So,” Ann muttered after a few seconds of silence.

“Perhaps an asymmetrical face is  _ easier _ to capture than a perfect face,” Kitagawa put a hand to his chin. “Would you be willing to come back, Kurusu, so I can test this theory?”

Akira was still shaking the shock out of his system from staring into Kitagawa’s eyes from  _ so  _ close up. He had barely heard what Yusuke had said, before Ann elbowed him subtly.

“Y-yeah, that’d be great,” Akira nodded.

“Wonderful,” Kitagawa turned back to Ann. “Takamaki, do you mind if I have one more go at drawing your face?”

“Go ahead,” Ann turned to face him, staring straight ahead.

Kitagawa ended up having even more trouble. It seemed that a front view of Ann’s features were even harder to capture than her profile.

Kitagawa set his pencil down shakily on the desk, red in the face and shaking a bit. He stood, and after briefly sweeping his hands through his hair, he turned back to Ann and Akira.

“I’m so sorry,” Kitagawa sighed. “My mind happened to be preoccupied today, and I’m having a lot of difficulty. Would you mind coming back another time?”

“Yeah, just let me know when!” Ann smiled.

Kitagawa continued to apologize as he walked them to the door. As they left the home, Ann grinned and grabbed Akira’s arm.

“What was  _ that _ ?” she asked with a huge smile.

“He was so interested in my face,” Akira explained. “He kept poking around, investigating it.”

“Maybe that’s your way in, letting him draw you,” Ann offered.

“He still wants to draw you,” Akira sighed. “He’s just trying to figure out why he can draw my face and not yours.”

“But still, that’s  _ plenty _ of alone time with him,” Ann nudged him with her elbow. “You just have to find a way to make it romantic.”

As they boarded the train, Akira’s phone pinged in his pocket.

Kitagawa  
  
I regret to inform you that I will not be available next week. Please let me know your schedule when you can. I will work around it to the best of my abilities.  
  


“Oh! Kitagawa got my number,” Akira remarked to Ann. “I forgot to give it to him.”

“I’ve got you covered, lover boy,” Ann winked, waving her phone around. From the screen, Akira could see a conversation between Kitagawa and Ann.

“You shouldn’t give people’s numbers out without their permission,” Akira said, light-heartedly.

“Hm, but I knew you wouldn’t mind,” she smiled. 

She was right, Akira didn’t mind. Actually, he was glad to have the number, as he read over Kitagawa’s text over and over, trying to figure out how to respond.

Kitagawa  
  
My schedule is really flexible! I get out of school at three, and I’m not in any clubs.  
  
Perfect. Neither am I. I head straight home to paint.  
  
You’re so dedicated.  
  
I will be a better host next time you come by. I have a kettle, and I’ll buy some tea.  
  
That sounds great!  
  
I’m excited to see you again.  
  


Akira excitedly showed the texts to Ann, and she flashed him an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

_ He’s excited to see me _ , Akira covered his mouth so that his fellow passengers wouldn’t notice his smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As this story is focusing so much on Yusuke, I decided to dedicate more time to his arc, so Madarame hasn't been confronted yet. But do not worry, Madarame will be dealt with.


	3. Motorcycle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kaneshiro arc time!
> 
> TWs for this chapter: mention of injuries (broken bones), brief hospital imagery, neglect from a guardian, mention of police.

“Kurusu, can you stay after school for a few minutes?” Mrs. Kawakami asked Akira as he walked through the classroom door. “I’d like to speak to you.”

Kawakami sounded disappointed, even mad. Her arms were crossed as she waited for her answer. Akira knew immediately that he couldn’t get out of this one.

“Sure,” he nodded, briskly walking to his seat. He spent the day wondering what Kawakami could want him for. 

Finally, his last class ended, and Kawakami entered the classroom again, right as the other students started to filter out. 

“Mrs. Kawakami, what if I’m late to my club meeting?” Akira asked, batting his eyelashes and sticking out his bottom lip.

“Stop that,” Kawakami rolled her eyes. “I know you’re not in any clubs.”

“Fine,” Akira let the pitiful face slip.

“Now, Kurusu, do you know how your grades are looking?” Kawakami asked.

“I bet they’re pretty good, right?” 

“No, you’re failing two subjects,” she sighed. “I don’t tutor. I don’t have the free time for it. But some of the third-years have offered to tutor younger kids.”

“Is this required?” Akira asked.

“You’re allowed to attend Shujin as long as you’re on your best behavior,” she pointed at his chest. “That  _ includes _ keeping your grades up.”

Akira sighed and held his palms up in surrender.

“You’ll start sessions on Wednesdays after school,” Kawakami told him. “You’ll be looking for a girl with a bob cut, outside the library.”

Akira nodded, and Kawakami finally let him go. It was only a Monday, so he had some more freedom before the third-year’s tutoring. He spent the afternoon with Ryuji, visiting an arcade and eating from a street vendor, much to the dismay of Akira’s wallet. He really needed a part-time job.

-

Wednesday rolled around, and he  _ planned  _ on skipping the session, but Kawakami followed him out of the classroom, giving him a nasty look, then watching him finally trudge to the library.

A girl stood right outside the doors, scanning the students as they walked by like it was a hobby. Finally, her gaze landed on Akira, and she gave him a polite smile.

“Are you Akira Kurusu?” she asked.

“Yeah. And you are...”

“Makoto Niijima,” she replied. “I’ll be your tutor.”

She ushered him inside the library, to a round table where she had already laid out books and stationery.

“Today, I’d like to work with you on some organization skills,” she explained. “It’s hard to study when you can’t find the right pen or the notes you took, right?”

Akira didn’t give her an answer.

“I have some labels so you can separate your notes,” Niijima pulled out a plastic pack. “I separate my notes by unit, but some may prefer to categorize them by month.”

“I don’t really…” Akira awkwardly twiddled his thumbs. He had really only taken notes when he knew his teacher was looking at him, but outside of those times, he preferred to doodle or sleep.

“I still have my notes from last year,” Niijima sighed. “I don’t believe the curriculum has changed, so I don’t mind if you study from mine. But from now on, you have to start taking them yourself.”

Akira let her lecture him, wishing he was with Ryuji or Ann. Or really, just about anyone else. Even Akechi would do.

“Let me see your bag as it is,” she pointed at his Shujin bag. “We can organize it together.”

_ Oh, shit. Morgana’s in there _ , he realized, panic rising in his chest.  _ Shit, shit, shit. _

“What’s wrong, Kurusu?” Niijima asked. Realization flooded her face. “Is there something in there you don’t want me to see?”

“Oh, no, it’s not like that,” Akira tried to force out a laugh, but it came out awkward.

“Is it  _ that _ messy?” she looked unconvinced.

_ Why did I decide it’d be a good idea to bring my cat to school?  _ Akira lamented.

“Let me just grab my notebook,” Akira gave a huge, fake smile, moving his bag out of Niijima’s view. He opened it slowly and was greeted by a pair of squinting feline eyes, upset that they hadn’t been let out to walk yet. Akira tried to reach around Morgana to grab a book— _ any _ book—when Morgana sank his teeth into Akira’s hand.

“Ack!” Akira jumped back, nearly falling out of his chair.

“Kurusu?” Niijima jumped in surprise as well.

“Ah, sorry,” he waved his non-injured hand dismissively. “I got poked by a mechanical pencil.”

“You really should keep it in a pencil case to avoid incidents like that,” Niijima said worriedly. 

“I meant to buy one but never got around to it,” he said as he tried to get his hand past Morgana again. He was bitten a second time, but managed to keep his reaction subdued.

“Would it be easier just to pour the bag out on the table?” Niijima asked. “Then we can decide what you’ll want to keep or throw out.”

“It’s too dirty for that, senpai,” Kurusu claimed. “Just let me…”

Finally, Morgana had decided that he had been poked more than enough, and he leaped out of the bag, out into the library.

Luckily, Niijima didn’t see the cat at first, but the librarian spotted him as he made a dash for the door.

“A cat!” she yelled, turning every head in the quiet library.

Someone happened to open the door right as Morgana reached it, allowing him to slip out the sliding doors.

“You’re the student council president, aren’t you?” Akira asked, grabbing his bag. “Isn’t that your responsibility?”

“Oh, is it?” Niijima frowned. “I suppose I should at least make sure everything is alright.”

They walked out of the library together, tailing the frightened cat. Niijima spotted Morgana heading towards the practice building and intercepted him, trying to lead him to the stairs. 

“You!” Niijima called. “Stop that cat!”

A passing student looked shocked, but he shoo’ed the cat in the opposite direction.

“Thanks,” Niijima said as she jogged by, trying to keep the cat from wandering into a classroom, where a teacher would see it.

“Let’s go, kitty,” Akira tried to hide his smile as he ushered the cat forward. Eventually, they got it down the stairs, past the shoe lockers, and outdoors onto the Shibuya streets.

The two watched Morgana run into an alley, looking back at Akira accusingly. Niijima let out a sigh and cracked her knuckles.

“So much for  _ that _ session,” she groaned.

“See you next week?” Akira asked hopefully.

“Yeah, see you then,” Niijima’s lips thinned. She rubbed her temples before heading back inside.

“Okay, Morgana,” Akira said as he walked into the alleyway. “I’m sorry about that. I’ll buy you plenty of fancy cat food on the way home.”

Morgana gave him a look of contempt, his tail bristled.

“I couldn’t get caught with you, buddy,” Akira reached his hand out, which Morgana batted at. “I can’t get in trouble right now.”

Morgana hissed again, and Akira backed up, hands raised. 

“Fine, fine, I get it,” he said. “I’ll come back with the food.”

Akira stopped at the convenience store on Main Street, buying the most expensive cat food he could find, then jogged back to Morgana. 

He was still testy, but the smell of food from Akira’s bag interested him. Akira knelt down with the can and popped it open. Morgana’s ears perked up, and as soon as the can was on the ground in front of him, he was digging in, making a mess of the food. Apology accepted.

-

Ann stopped by LeBlanc later that week, seeking out free coffee and good company. She waved as she walked through the doors and took a spot at the counter next to Akira.

“How’s my favorite barista?” she asked.

“You say that to all the boys,” Akira replied.

“I would if they could brew like you,” she laughed.

“I can’t believe how much cream you add,” Akira said as he picked a jar of beans off the shelf. “You always seemed like the type.”

“At least I’m not as bad as Ryuji,” Ann countered. “You’ve seen how much sugar he tries to dump into it.”

“Then, he  _ still _ won’t drink it,” Akira sighed.

“Well,  _ I _ appreciate your coffee,” Ann sighed. A smile split across her face as Akira passed her a cup. He joined her at the counter with his own cup.

“So,” she said after a long sip. “Why’d you ditch Wednesday’s girls night?”

“Don’t call it that,” Akira laughed. “I had a tutoring session.”

“Oh? A good or bad thing?”

“Boring, really,” he explained. “But it may keep the school off my back.”

“Who’s doing it?” Ann clinked her nails against the ceramic mug.

“You probably don’t know her, she’s a third-year,” Akira sighed. “Her name’s Niijima.”

“Short brown hair?” Ann asked.

“Yeah,” Akira looked at her. “ _ Do _ you know her?”

“Unfortunately,” Ann’s nose crinkled up.

“Sorry to bring up bad memories,” Akira leaned towards the counter, trying to catch a good look at Ann’s face where she was looking into her mug.

“No, it’s not that big a deal, really,” she sighed.

“May I ask how you know her?” Akira prodded a bit.  _ So, sue me. I’m curious, _ he thought.

“During my first year,” Ann started. “We dated briefly. Not even long enough to, like, get to know each other. But the breakup was dramatic.”

“Woah! Really?” Akira reeled back.

“It’s not that dramatic,” Ann rolled her eyes. “We aren’t bitter exes or anything—we just ended it on bad terms, and we haven’t talked since.”

“Sounds like the definition of bitter exes,” Akira commented.

Ann batted at him playfully.

“She just, ugh,” Ann groaned. “She’s  _ so _ uptight. Didn’t surprise me at all when she became Student Council President. She was made for the job, sitting in her little office and judging all the other students.”

Akira laughed. “Is she that bad?”

“Oh, G-d yes!” Ann laughed along. “I remember—she wanted me to quit modeling and start studying more for college entrance exams. She didn’t think modeling was a ‘real job.’”

“Yikes,” Akira hissed.

“Seriously,” Ann rubbed her temples. “She’ll be perfect in an office one day, listening to everything her boss tells her.”

Akira snorted.

“She was nice to me,” Akira stated. “But I can see what you’re talking about.”

“Maybe she’s loosened up since I last talked to her,” Ann considered.

“She seems really stressed, honestly,” Akira stated.

Ann seemed indifferent to that fact.

“She almost caught Morgana during our tutoring session,” Akira said.

“Really?” Ann laughed. “Details, details!”

“He was in my bag—” Akira started.

“You really need to quit that, by the way,” Ann butted in. “You can’t just bring your cat to school.”

“He gets lonely all day by himself,” Akira frowned.

Ann rolled her eyes.

“We’ll talk about  _ that _ more later. Continue?” 

“She wanted me to clean out my bag,” Akira continued. “And of course, Morgana was there, and he was  _ pissed _ . We ended up having to shoo him out of the school. He saved me from a lecture, though.”

“Is it insensitive to say ‘Cat’s outta the bag,’?”

“Yes, very insensitive.”

Ann laughed, and the sound seemed to rouse Morgana from the attic where he had been napping. He padded down the stairs and into the restaurant. Spotting Ann, he curled around her barstool and purred.

“Hey, little guy,” Ann scratched his butt and smoothed over his tail. He chirped in response. “Awww, little baby, just a little baby man!”

Akira watched Ann sing to the happy cat, who was soaking up the attention.

-

The next tutoring session rolled around, and Akira spotted Niijima waiting for him in front of the library. She looked out of it, though, lost in thought.

“Niijima-san?” Akira called out to get her attention.

“Ah!” she jolted up, into her usual straight-backed pose. “Hello, Kurusu.”

“Are you feeling alright?”

“Yes, of course,” Niijima smiled. “Trying to distract me?”

“No, ma’am,” Akira joked.

They sat down in the library again, and Akira showed off his (cat-free) bag. He had cleaned it out, just for Niijima. She almost looked impressed.

“Today,” she said. “We’re going to work on your math work, because it is one of your lowest grades.”

Akira flushed pink.

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Niijima said, though her tone didn’t quite convey the same message. Akira was starting to understand why she and Ann would’ve broken up. They really were polar opposites.

“You’re working on ellipses, right?” Niijima looked over his notes. “Well, that’s easy, just…” She trailed off, pursing her lips as she tried to catch her train of thought again.

“Is something wrong?” Akira asked.

“Yes, of course, I just have other things on my mind besides calculus,” Niijima admitted. “Something big is happening this weekend for me.”

“Is it that time of year already?”

“ _ What? _ How did you—”

“College entrance exams,” Akira clarified. “What did you think I was talking about?”

“Ah, I’m sorry,” Niijima waved him off. “Like I said, my mind is elsewhere.”

She continued to have trouble through the rest of the session, trailing off while talking, staring off into space, forgetting equations as she attempted to work problems, and even jolting at the sound of Akira’s voice as he knocked her out of her trances.

Niijima and Akira walked together out of the library. Right as Akira raised his hand to wave goodbye, Niijima spoke up.

“I’m so sorry about today, Kurusu,” she bowed her head. “I’m sure, by next week, I’ll be ready to tutor you properly. I feel terrible that these last two sessions have been a bust.”

“It’s no problem,” Akira waved her off. “It’s not like I’m paying you or anything.”

Niijima grimaced at that. “I wish the school had offered some sort of compensation,” she said carefully.

“Oh, well,” Akira scratched his chin. “I was planning on getting a part-time job. I can start paying you for your time.”

“No, no,” Niijima laughed him off. “It’s okay, really. Use that time to study instead.”

Akira finally headed home, meeting Morgana in his favorite alleyway.

“I’m sorry,” Akira pet his head. “I can’t bring you to school on Wednesdays anymore. Niijima will catch me!”

Morgana flopped on his belly, prompting Akira to try and pet his stomach. That was when Morgana attacked, claws out and into Akira’s hand.

“Ow! Owie!” Akira jumped back. “Fell for that one.”

With some gentle coaxing and promises of butt pets, he eventually managed to lure the cat home with him.

-

The next Monday, Kawakami approached him before class.

“I’m just passing on the message that your tutoring will be canceled this week,” she explained. “Apparently, you actually went to them. I’m impressed.”   


_You make it sound like I had a choice,_ Akira thought.

“May I ask why?” Akira said instead.

“Niijima is in the hospital,” Kawakami sighed. “We got a call from her older sister.”

“What?” Akira asked. “Why?”

“We don’t know. We were just told she would be out for a few days and asked if we could drop off her schoolwork,” she frowned. “Which I will probably get sacked with.”

“Thanks for letting me know,” Akira sighed.

“Yeah, no problem,” Kawakami walked off.

Akira found himself daydreaming about his last tutoring session. Niijima had clearly been worried about something, but he wondered if it would’ve been too rude to press for more information. She clearly hadn’t wanted to talk about it, but maybe she had  _ needed _ to.

Akira hoped she was in the hospital over something unrelated.

He didn’t usually listen to the gossip in the train home, but both Ryuji and Ann were unavailable that day, and his art date with Kitagawa wasn’t until later that week. So, yeah, he was a bit bored.

“Did you hear?” a woman chatted over the phone. “There was some  _ big _ arrest this weekend. Some mob boss.”

“Didn’t a crime ring get taken down?” a man asked a companion. 

“Well, my brother knows a guy who works with the police, and  _ he _ said…”

“I saw on the news they arrested dozens of those gangsters…”

Eventually Akira tuned out. 

As soon as he walked through the café doors, Sakura was shoving an apron in his hands.

“I have to pick up something from the house,” he told him. “Man the shop until I get back.”

Akira went to work—which meant standing behind the counter, waiting for the small chance a customer could come in. His hand propped his head up, leaning on the counter, letting his eyes drift shut at the sound of the windchimes across the street and the TV set on low volume.

“We’re back with our story on the crime lord who was recently caught and arrested in Shibuya,” a male news announcer stated.

“Now, the method for his arrest was very unusual,” a female news announcer continued.

“Yes, now, this particular gang targetted teenagers, using them as escorts for illegal substances,” he stated. “So, the Shibuya Police Department states that they sent a  _ high-schooler _ in as bait.”

“To find the location of the crime lord’s hideout, correct?”

“Yes.”

“How scary! To go all alone to a place like that!”

“I can only imagine,” the male news anchor sighed.

“And it worked?”

“Yes, with unconventional methods as those, the mob boss and his lackeys weren’t expecting a full-scale police raid.”

“And the high-schooler was alright?”

“Yes, our sources say that the high-schooler was hospitalized for two broken fingers.”

Akira perked up at that. He fumbled under the counter, trying to find the remote to turn up the TV.

The camera switched to a view of a girl in a hospital bed, sitting up and talking to a reporter. Her face was blurred out, but her voice was unobstructed.

“Were you scared, being in a crime den like that?” the reporter asked.

“Well, yes,” that was  _ Niijima’s _ voice. “But everything went according to plan, and I had faith in Tokyo’s police force.”

Akira noticed in that moment, barely in frame, a woman on the other side of the hospital bed.

“So, how did the police choose you for this job?” the reporter asked.

Suddenly, the woman stepped further into frame, leering at the reporter and holding a hand in front of Niijima.

“Don’t answer that,” she stated.

“Alright,” the reporter remained enthusiastic. “Can you detail the plan to us?”

“I was to find a member of the gang, and ask h—”

“That’s  _ enough, _ ” the woman snapped. “This interview is over.”

The camera cut back to the news anchors.

“How interesting,” the female host continued, but Akira had tuned out.

Niijima was part of some  _ police raid _ ? Why? How? The reporter had asked a  _ great _ question. How did she get involved in the first place?

He touched his phone where it rested in his pocket, about to pull it out and call Ann.

_ She doesn’t even like Niijima anyways. It’s not worth bothering her, _ he thought.

Still, he found himself reaching for his cell every time they mentioned Niijima’s involvement in the raid.

Niijima returned to school on Thursday, and rumors had already started to fester. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see the splint on Niijima’s broken fingers, healing bruises, and glum expression to make  _ some _ sort of connection.

Oh, and the  _ bodyguard _ who followed her as she entered and left the school.

A large man, dwarfing Niijima with his height, followed closely behind her as she entered the school gates, then following her to the third floor where he remained posted near the stairs. Shortly after lunch, another bodyguard would come and switch out with him, and that man would escort Niijima home. Akira only knew this because it was  _ all _ the other students talked about for days. He even overheard stories of worried girls, talking about how their boyfriends tried to provoke the guards, or at least get them to flinch. 

“Taku-chan tried to get him to laugh,” one girl recounted to her friends. “But he didn’t even crack a smile! And you know how funny Taku-chan is!”

“Well, my older brother tried to scare him by jumping out from behind a corner,” another girl shared.

“That’s a good way to get shot,” her friend groaned. “Scaring an armed security guard like that? Your brother’s an idiot.”

“You’re telling me,” she rolled her eyes.

As he stepped into the hall, Akira was approached by Niijima herself. The security guard stood a few feet behind her, respectfully turning his head away.

“Hello, Kurusu,” Niijima said quietly. “Are you still free for tutoring next week?”

Her inflection was nothing like the normal, bossy tone she usually used. It was subdued, embarrassed.

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” Akira replied.

“I’m very sorry, but,” Niijima let out a shaky sigh. “Morita-san will have to sit with us during your session.”

“Morita-san?” Akira asked.

Niijima pointed with her chin to the bodyguard. 

“It’s nothing against you,” Niijima said. “He’s just under strict orders to keep an eye on me most of the time.”

Akira frowned.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he offered awkwardly.

“Thank you, Kurusu, but no,” Niijima said curtly. 

Niijima walked away, her gait stiff, with Morita close behind her. 

“Hey, man,” Ryuji touched his shoulder, making Akira jump. “Woah, you okay?”

“Have you seen Niijima and her bodyguard?” Akira asked.

“Well, duh,” Ryuji laughed. “It’s all anyone’s talking about.”

“She and Ann used to be close, right?”

Ryuji gave him a look as if trying to decipher what he was being asked.

“What do you mean...exactly?” he asked cautiously.

“Relax,” Akira smiled. “I know they used to date. Ann told me.”

“Oh,” Ryuji let out a sigh. “You had me worried for a second. Tryin’ to interrogate me like Akechi or somethin’.”

“I’m no Detective Prince,” Akira sighed. “But really, Ann didn’t give me a lot of details.”

“I don’t know if it’s my place to tell,” Ryuji admitted. “They  _ were _ close though. I kinda got the impression that, back then, we were Niijima’s first friends.”

“Wow,” Akira leaned back against the hallway’s wall and crossed his arms. “That’s rough.”

“Yeah,” Ryuji’s shoulders slumped. “We didn’t really keep in touch. Plus, I mean… Our friend group was me, Ann, Suzui, and Mishima. She just wasn’t a good match, I don’t think. She wasn’t sporty like Suzui and Mishima. Ann and I hated studyin’. There was no common ground.”

“That reminds me. How is Mishima?” Akira asked.

“Pretty good, I think,” Ryuji smiled. “He slept over at my house last weekend. It was fun, we read comics.”

“That’s good,” Akira lowered his voice. “It’s good to see him looking better, I think. No more bandages.”

“Definitely.”

The two stood for a moment, watching the students pass by. Akira found himself hoping Ann would spot them, then chide them for standing in the hallways like creeps. Then, he remembered.

“Let’s go home. I’m beat,” Ryuji finally groaned.

“I actually have to head over to Kitagawa’s,” Akira said.

“Oh, good luck with that!” Ryuji smiled. “See you tomorrow.”

-

Akira rang the doorbell to Madarame’s home and stepped back, waiting for Kitagawa to answer the door. Instead, his teacher answered.

“Oh, hello,” Madarame smiled. “How can I help you?”

“I’m Kitagawa’s friend,” Akira explained. “He knows I’m coming.”

“Oh! I recognize you,” Madarame led him inside, pausing to let Akira remove his shoes. “Yusuke’s sketches often include you.”

“He draws me?” Akira felt his face burn, but he kept his face down to hide it from Madarame.

“Often!” Madarame said joyfully. “I’m grateful to you for that. Artists are always looking for new inspiration, but it is few and far between.”

“That’s wonderful to hear,” Akira said.

“Yusuke, your friend…” Madarame called into the house. 

“Kurusu.” 

“Your friend Kurusu is here,” Madarame finished.

There was a shuffling from a back room, where Kitagawa emerged with a large smile.

“Hello, Kurusu,” he waved. “Thank you, Sensei, I didn’t hear the doorbell.”

“Always so absorbed in your art,” Madarame laughed, then turned to Akira. “He disappears for days at a time, you know. Just painting in that studio of his.”

Kitagawa frowned, embarrassed or something similar to it.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Madarame waved as he disappeared up the stairs.

“I’m sorry about Madarame-sensei,” Kitagawa said once his teacher had left. “I hope he didn’t tell you anything too embarrassing.”

“Oh, no, not at all,” Akira reassured.

Kitagawa breathed a sigh of relief.

“Come now, we have art to make,” Kitagawa smiled and took Akira’s hand, leading him back into his studio.

“Sit here,” Kitagawa moved a stool across the room. “The sun will shine on your face here.”

Akira sat, letting Kitagawa move his head to the side a bit so that the sun would fall across his cheek, but not into his eyes. Once Kitagawa was satisfied, he settled behind his canvas and started to sketch.

“Do you mind if I talk?” Akira asked.

“Not at all,” Kitagawa continued to sketch as he spoke. “The room would be dreadfully quiet without it.”

“We should hang out sometime,” Akira said.

“Are we not ‘hanging out’ now?” Kitagawa asked.

“Well, I mean, maybe you could come over,” Akira suggested. “I work at a café. You could visit me and have a cup of coffee.”

“Of course,” Kitagawa accepted. “That sounds enjoyable, maybe even inspiring. Culinary pursuits are artistic, after all.”

Something flashed across Kitagawa’s face.

“You are an artist as well,” he said.

“I wouldn’t say that. My coffee isn’t  _ that _ good,” Akira laughed nervously.

“But you are pursuing art!” Kitagawa smiled. “That is why I feel a kindred spirit within you. We are both artists.”

“Yeah,” Akira smiled, not quite believing his cooking to be  _ art _ level, but enjoying the smile Kitagawa was giving him. “I’ll pick out a brew you’ll like.”

“I am not picky,” Kitagawa nodded.

Akira spent about twenty minutes sitting still before Kitagawa huffed angrily. 

“The sun has moved,” he commented. 

Akira stood and walked to peek at the canvas. Well, yeah, that was him for sure. It was weird to see his face on a canvas.

“At the very least, I got the sketch done,” Kitagawa continued to pout. “I truly hate to keep cutting our sessions short, but I cannot continue when the sun is not in the correct position dancing across your face.”

“I don’t mind,” Akira said. 

“Would you like to stay? I can make some tea,” Kitagawa asked.

“Sure, I’d love to,” Akira responded.

Kitagawa led him into a small combined living and kitchen area. Akira leaned against the counter as Kitagawa put the kettle on the stove.

“You’re an oddity, Kurusu,” Kitagawa said.

“Call me Akira,” he said. “If you want.”

“Then you may call me Yusuke,” he clarified. “You’re an oddity, Akira.” 

“Why is that?”

“You’re interested in me,” he answered. “You invite me over.”

_ Shit. Does he know? _ Akira felt his palms against the countertop go clammy.

“Is that a bad thing?” Akira asked him.

“Not at all,” Yusuke clarified. “I’ve just never shared a mutual… Hmm, I am trying to find the word. I’ve never shared a mutual infatuation with another. I am usually the admirer instead of the admired.”

_ I genuinely cannot tell if he’s flirting with me or not. _

“Well,” Akira coughed awkwardly. “I do like you.”

“Yes, I would hope so,” Yusuke said, “since you are inviting me out for coffee.”

_ Ah, okay, maybe not. _

Yusuke placed tea bags into two chipped mugs and poured the steaming water over them. They sat on the floor at a low table, legs almost touching under the wood.

“Tell me about your life, Akira,” Yusuke said. “I know so little about you.”

Akira recounted the story of how he came to live with Sakura, of his little attic room, and of his feline companion (who was currently with Sakura while Akira went on his date). He went on to, in the vaguest possible details, explain how he came to know Ryuji and Ann through Kamoshida. 

“What an evil man,” Yusuke gripped his mug tighter. 

“Yeah,” Akira sighed.

“But you said he is behind bars?”

“Yes, he is.”

“A fitting end to his story,” Yusuke practically  _ snarled _ .

They sat in silence for a moment, sipping tea and letting their anger diffuse slowly.

“Thank you for having me over,” Akira said eventually.

“No, it is  _ I _ who should be thanking you,” Yusuke replied. “Your company, the inspiration you bring, it has been an unexpected joy to me.”

“You really know how to flatter a guy,” Akira laughed.

“Do I?” Yusuke asked. “I never considered flattery one of my talents. Maybe it is because I am speaking from the heart.”

_ He’s going to kill me, talking like this. _

“I enjoy your company as well,” Akira smiled.

They went back and forth like that for a while longer, Yusuke’s soft words piercing Akira’s heart, leaving him sputtering and defenseless, all while Yusuke was completely unaware of the deep blush on Akira’s face.

As he was leaving, Akira felt like he had run a mile. His palms were shaky and his entire body was flushed red. Breathing was even harder, no thanks to his binder. He hurried home, eager to return to a normal body temperature. 

-

Akira arrived at LeBlanc, and after changing into his sleep clothes, he checked his phone. 

Ann  
  
Ryuji told me about Makoto.  
  
Her security guard I mean.  
  
Let's do something nice for her. Please?  
  
Yeah, sure. But what?  
  
You're just going to have to trust me on this one.  
  
Just get her into the locker room in the practice building after school.  
  
How am I supposed to do that?  
  
Tell her someone's doing drugs in there or something. She's the student council president, she'll have to check it out.  
  
I don't think that will work.  
  
Then think of something better!  
  


Akira sighed, and his displeased noises attracted Morgana to his side. The cat flopped into his lap, begging for attention.

Akira suddenly jolted up with an idea, nearly knocking the poor cat out of his lap.

“You’re a genius, Morgana,” he smiled.

The cat just made a low sound, unhappy at the jostling.

-

The next tutoring session rolled around, and Akira knew he had to put he and Ann’s plan into motion.

Niijima and Akira settled into their chairs in the library, the bodyguard sitting in a separate chair a few feet away. He was respectfully looking away, but Akira knew he was definitely within earshot.

There was a quick  _ tap _ on the library door, and Ryuji peaked his head in.

“Do you need something?” the library assistant asked him.

“No, just lookin’ for someone,” Ryuji winked at Akira to indicate that he was in position and ready. Then, he stepped back out into the library.

Akira jostled the bag at his side, and Morgana let out a low hiss.

_ Sorry about this, Morgana,  _ Akira thought.

He opened the zipper in a flash, releasing an irate cat. At that moment, Ryuji pulled the library door open and threw down a treat, leading Morgana his way, and out into the hallway. Morgana, luckily, made a mad dash for the treat. If there was one unpredictable factor in the whole plan, it was the cat.

“That cat  _ again _ ?” Niijima jumped up. “Seriously, who keeps letting it in?”

“Maybe there’s a window open somewhere?” Akira suggested.

“This library is on  _ the third floor _ ,” Niijima stated exasperatedly.

“Should we go after it?” Akira asked.

“Yeah, I don’t want a teacher to try and call a pound,” she rushed out into the hallway, Akira after her.

The bodyguard confusedly stood up and started after them, not even having to run with his large gait. Ryuji was a little further ahead, propping open doors and leaving cat treats along the hallways to lure Morgana onto the breezeway and then into the practice building.

“Here, kitty, kitty,” Niijima called. Morgana ignored her in favor of the treats, however. “Come back, kitty.”

Ryuji had to lead Morgana down the stairs as well, as the locker rooms were on the first floor of the practice building. Morgana almost got distracted more than once, but to make the plan as air-tight as possible, Akira and Ryuji had tested a dozen cat treats with Morgana to find his favorite. 

Ryuji tossed the final treat into the girls’ locker room, then hid around a nearby corner, watching Niijima and Akira catch up. 

“It must’ve gone into the girls’ locker room,” Akira pointed. “I can’t really…”

Niijima sighed. 

“Alright, leave it to me,” she walked in, closing the door quickly behind her.

Her bodyguard caught up with the group, quick enough to spot Niijima enter the locker room. As he put his hand on its door to open it, Ryuji pushed himself between the door and the guard.

“Woah, man!” he exclaimed. “That’s the girls’ locker room! And you call yourself a bodyguard!”

The man tried to ignore Ryuji, but Akira pushed in as well.

“I’ll call the police,” Akira threatened, holding up his phone. The bodyguard looked between the two boys, then finally threw his hands up in mock surrender. 

“Fine, kid,” the bodyguard backed up. He waited against the opposite wall, watching the door. 

Akira’s phone chimed.

Agent A  
  
Meet us at the front gate.  
  
I have Makoto. >:3  
  


Akira and Ryuji left in opposite directions, acting as innocently as possible. They met back near the front doors of the school, and Ryuji couldn’t keep up the act anymore.

“That was  _ awesome _ , man!” he high-fived Akira.

“It was pretty fun,” Akira smiled.

“I guess you could call me a master baiter,” Ryuji grinned, holding in his laughter.

“Har har har,” Akira rolled his eyes, and when Ryuji’s guard was down, he went to jab him in the ribs playfully.

Ryuji punched his shoulder for that one, which prompted Akira to respond with a slap to the back of the head, which inspired Ryuji to attempt to trip Akira with a leg sweep. They would’ve gone on like that for much longer, if Ann didn’t break them up. 

“Morons!” she scolded. “Come on, we have to get to LeBlanc before Makoto’s guard realizes she’s gone.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right,” Ryuji realized.

“What’s happening?” Niijima asked nervously.

“We’re taking you out for coffee,” Ann explained. “Don’t worry, Morita-san won’t even notice you’re gone.”

“I doubt that,” Niijima kicked a rock. “But I could really use a cup of coffee.”

They walked to the train station quietly, constantly looking over their shoulders to make sure Morita-san wasn’t sprinting after them.

_ Maybe kidnapping someone with an armed guard was a bad idea _ , Akira thought worriedly.  _ Well, no turning back now. _

“How’d you guys get outta the locker room anyways?” Ryuji asked.

“And how did you get into Shujin in the first place, Ann?” Akira added.

“Easy! The locker room has a huge window near the back,” Ann explained. “I used to sneak in and out of it during gym class.”

“ _ That’s _ where you went,” Ryuji’s mouth gaped.

“Yeah! I used to sneak out to 777 and buy chocolate,” Ann grinned. “It’s super convenient.”

“I wouldn’t call it convenient,” Niijima sighed. “That window is six feet off the ground. We had to climb up on a bench.”

“Still, how cool is it that the window is  _ just above _ the air conditioning unit? You can climb up and get back inside easy!” 

“I guess,” Niijima admitted. “Also, may I ask where exactly we’re going?”

“Akira’s dad runs a coffee shop,” Ann explained.

“What? He’s not my dad,” Akira tilted his head.

“He’s not?” Ann squinted. “I was  _ so _ sure. I mean, with the hair.”

“He’s  _ balding, _ ” Akira whined. 

“No, I mean the color,” she laughed.

“Ann, I don’t even call him ‘Dad’,” Akira said exasperatedly. “I call him by his  _ last name. _ ”

“I thought maybe you guys just had a tense relationship,” Ann explained. “Like, you just hadn’t lived with him for most of your life, so now you’re blood-related, but perfect strangers.”

“Why...have you thought it out that much?” Ryuji asked.

“I watch soap operas a lot,” Ann shrugged.

“So… How is this man related to you, Kurusu?” Niijima asked.

“He’s a family friend,” Akira explained. “I’m staying with him while on probation.”

“ _ Boring, _ ” Ann teased. “A long lost cousin would’ve been more fun.”

“I’m sorry my real-life experiences aren’t entertaining enough for you,” Akira rolled his eyes.

The train ride was quiet, but Niijima fidgeted with the buttons on her vest the entire way. Over the course of the ride, she adjusted her headband five times. She would keep checking for her bag at her side, realize it wasn’t there, and then repeat the ritual a few minutes later.

Ann gave Akira a nervous look.

_ What if goody-two-shoes rats us out? _ he thought.

“It’s right through here,” Ryuji said.

“How do any customers find this place?” Niijima asked. “It’s so tucked away.”

“That’s part of the charm!” Ann smiled. “It’s almost always empty.”

“How does it stay afloat?” Niijima asked.

“Boss has plenty of regulars,” Akira explained. “They stop by so often I’ve started to nickname them.”

Akira pushed open the door, realizing that the customer he had named The Jackass was sitting at the counter, annoying Sakura. He lead his friends to a booth and joined Boss behind the bar, tying his apron and getting to work on four cups of coffee.

When he returned, he could tell that none of them had said a word to each other yet, awkwardly sitting, avoiding each other’s eyes.

“So,” Akira said as he placed the mugs down. “I saw you on TV the other day, Niijima.”

“Really?” she looked a bit surprised. “I didn’t think they’d air that disaster of an interview.”

“They were really scrounging for information, since the police won’t release anything,” Ann interjected.

“They don’t even have the name of the crime lord!” Ryuji said. 

“You’re right,” Akira said. “I didn’t even think of that, but I haven’t seen anyone mention a name.”

“His name is Junya Kaneshiro,” Niijima said. “You’ve probably never heard of him, that’s how behind-the-scenes he is.”

“Oh, man,” Ryuji tried to suppress his excitement. “A higher-up, huh?”

“But not the highest-up,” Niijima frowned. “Which is why my sister hired bodyguards.”

“That’s…” Ann frowned.

“It’s really frightening if I’m being completely honest,” Niijima lowered her head. “The police kept my involvement off the books, to keep my name secret. But the media did such a bad job at disguising my identity, I fear that...any day…”

She pinched the skin between her eyebrows, sighed shakily, and took a sip of the coffee.

“This is very good, Kurusu,” she commented.

“I’m glad,” he nodded.

Niijima noticed the entire table was looking at her, waiting to see if she’d continue.

“I pretended to be interested in the whole scheme they were running,” she said. “The scams on teenagers, I mean. That stupid scam, it was one of their more innocent crimes. But it was a way in. Then I asked to see Kaneshiro himself.”

“Wait, that worked?” Ryuji asked.

“I was surprised too,” Niijima admitted. “I figured I’d have to improv some story about how much I wanted to work for him or how desperate I was for cash. Or at least suck up to his henchmen.”

“Maybe he was arrogant,” Akira suggested.

“Yes, I think so. Years of being untouched by the police probably made him cocky. Cocky enough to accept a Trojan Horse,” Niijima said.

“Wow,” Ann breathed out.

“They tracked my phone,” Niijima said. “And I was wearing a wire.”

“You just...waltzed in? Without any backup?” Ann asked.

“I had to confirm that I had the right guy, so they were waiting for my codeword,” Niijima explained. 

“What was it?” Ryuji leaned forward as he asked.

“Motorcycle,” she said. “When I realized it was him, I said ‘I need a way to get money quick. I’m saving up for a motorcycle.’”

“Woah,” Ryuji breathed.

“I made it sound too cool just then,” Niijima laughed nervously. “In the moment, my voice cracked.”

“Using you as bait, though,” Akira frowned. “Isn’t that a bit…”

“Dangerous? Unethical?” Niijima asked. “I asked the same thing, but… Well, my sister was relying on me. She needed a big break, and I happened to be in the right age range, so…” 

She eventually trailed off.

“That wasn’t right of her,” Ann said, “to ask you to do that.”

“Ann’s right,” Ryuji nodded.

Niijima placed her hand on the table. It was her right—the one with two broken fingers, her pinkie and ring finger. She picked at the splint they were propped against.

“I was lucky to get out with minimal injury,” she said. “Learning how to write again will be tough.”

The group stared at her hand, then passed sympathetic looks around. There wasn’t a lot to be said. “Get well soon” suddenly seemed lacking.

“I really should get going,” Niijima said as she slid out of the booth. “Morita-san has probably already called my sister. I’d imagine she’s calling my phone right now.”

“You don’t have your phone with you?” Akira asked.

“I left it in the library, in my bag,” Niijima explained. “Thank you for the coffee, Kurusu. We should do this again sometime, all of us.”

“Yeah!” Ryuji grinned.

“Do you need someone to walk you back?” Ann asked.

Niijima considered it for a moment, then nodded.

“Yes, Ann, if you’d come along,” Niijima said. “It’d make me feel a bit better.”

Ann slid out of the booth to join her.

“See you guys later,” Ann said.

“Text us when you guys get there,” Akira said. “Or I’ll worry.” Akira tried to put on his most pitiful pouty face.

“Ew, I’ll do anything if you promise not to make that face again,” Ann joked. “But yeah, I’ll text you. Bye!”

He watched the girls leave, then he heard Ryuji speak up.

“Can I hang here?” Ryuji asked.

“Yeah, of course,” Akira smiled. The customer that had been in the shop before had left, leaving only the sounds of Boss washing dishes in the back. 

“So, give me details on that thing with Kitagawa,” Ryuji said.

“How much do you know again?” Akira asked.

“Ann  _ screamed _ to me over the phone, something about a kiss,” Ryuji recounted.

“We did  _ not _ kiss,” Akira pouted. “Ann just thought we were going to.”

“Why didn’t you?” Ryuji asked.

“No, it wasn’t like  _ that. _ We were never planning on kissing,” Akira explained. “He just doesn’t really know how close is too close, you know?”

“I gotcha,” Ryuji nodded. “So, he’s planning on painting you too?”

“Yeah,” Akira confirmed. “And he said he’s not attracted to Ann.”

“Think he’s gay?”

“I sure hope so.”

Ryuji had a little smile on his face. It was a rare one, as most of his happiness burst out of his body against his control. His smiles usually lit up his entire face. This one was supportive, subtle.

“I really want him to like me,” Akira sighed.

“Who wouldn’t like you?” Ryuji’s voice was as soft as his smile.

They sat in silence for a moment, sipping coffee. The tenderness hurt Akira’s chest. People weren’t this kind to him, ever. It made him uncomfortable, like his heart was trying to squirm out of his body.

“Did I put enough cream in it?” Akira broke the moment. Ryuji didn’t seem to care too much though, as he was back to his huge smile.

“Yeah! It’s perfect,” he said.

Ryuji and Akira’s phones beeped at the same time.

Agent A  
  
Dropped her off at the school.  
  
Heading home myself.  
  


“That’s good,” Ryuji said. “I hope her sister isn’t too mad.”

“Yeah,” Akira sighed. “Do you think this was a good idea?”

“I think so,” Ryuji nodded. “She said it herself. She needed a good cup of coffee.”

Akira stared at the empty mug where Niijima had been sitting.

-

Later that night, after Ryuji had left, Akira was lying in bed when he received a text from an unknown number.

Unknown  
  
Hello, Kurusu.  
  
It's Niijima.  
  


Akira changed her contact name.

Niijima  
  
I just wanted to let you know that today's secret mission was a welcome respite. I truly appreciate my bodyguards' work, but I simply cannot be constantly monitored.  
  
Hey, Niijima!  
  
Are you in trouble?  
  
Also, how did you get my number?  
  
Luckily, Morita-san never contacted my sister.  
  
Ann gave me your number.  
  


Akira rolled his eyes. Ann was handing out his number to just about anyone who asked these days, huh?

Speaking of Ann’s love of spreading his contact information far and wide, his phone vibrated again.

Unknown  
  
Is this the correct phone number for Akira Kurusu? This is Goro Akechi. Takamaki gave me your contact information.  
  


Akira turned off his phone.


	4. Swimming Pool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Futaba time!
> 
> TWs for this chapter: talk of suicide and death, talk of child abuse and neglect.

It really should’ve been harder than it was to get Niijima to sneak out. 

Akira had just texted, “Hey, we’re going out to eat. Want to come?” Still, within thirty minutes, Niijima was at the Central Street diner, in casual clothes, sans bodyguard. 

“Woah, how’d you lose the muscle?” Ryuji asked when she sat down.

“I just climbed out of my bedroom window,” Niijima explained. “The guards don’t come inside the apartment. They just stand outside the door.”

“ _ Lame _ ,” Ryuji groaned. “It was pretty cool that you snuck out your window, though.”

Niijima noticed Yusuke, who was sitting next to Akira and Ryuji, and jumped a bit in her seat.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met,” she held out her hand to shake.

“Yusuke Kitagawa,” he said as he took her hand over the table. 

“Makoto Niijima,” she replied.

“You two are so formal,” Ann whined. 

“A polite introduction is very important,” Kitagawa explained. 

“I didn’t think we were  _ that _ formal,” Niijima scratched her nose.

“You shook hands!” Ann laughed. “I mean, you’re not forty-year-old businessmen.”

Niijima rolled her eyes. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Kitagawa,” she said. “I assume you don’t go to Shujin?”

“No, I do not,” Yusuke said. “I attend Kosei High School, fine arts division.”

“That school is very well accredited,” Niijima smiled. “It’s impressive that you were accepted.”

Ryuji shot Akira a look as if to say,  _ “It is?” _

“Thank you,” Yusuke smiled at the praise.

“Okay, enough with the small talk,” Ann groaned. “I can’t take it. We have to play an icebreaker game or something.”

“Truth or Dare?” Akira asked.

“ _ No, _ I’ve played Truth or Dare with Ryuji before,” Ann said. “He always picks dare. It’s so boring.”

“Dare is more fun!” Ryuji objected.

“No-one plays Truth or Dare so they can watch Ryuji Sakamoto eat salt packets or balance a pencil on his nose,” Ann glared. “Both of which he has done, by the way. People play this game so they can ask embarrassing questions.”

“How about Truth or Dare But You Can’t Pick Dare,” Akira suggested.

“That’s wordy,” Ryuji complained.

“Wouldn’t it just be Truth?” Niijima suggested.

“I’m not quite sure I follow,” Yusuke said worriedly.

“Have you ever played before?” Ann asked.

“I can’t say I have,” Yusuke cringed. “I haven’t had many companions to share party games with before now.”

“That’s fine!” Ann reassured him.

“Someone will start, and they’ll ask another person a question, something funny or personal. They have to answer truthfully,” Akira explained. 

“Do we have to answer  _ anything _ ?” Niijima grimaced. “I’d like to keep my dignity.”

“How ‘bout we all have one freebie?” Ryuji suggested.

“Works for me,” Ann shrugged.

“Wait, let’s make it a competition. If you don’t want to answer, you’re out,” Akira suggested.

“I can live with that,” Niijima said. The rest of the table nodded their agreements.

“Who should go first?” Ann asked.

“You, since you brought it up in the first place,” Ryuji said.

“Fine,” Ann looked around the table. “Akira, here’s an easy one. What’s the best gift you’ve ever received?”

Akira thought for a moment, recalling memories of childhood birthdays. His relationship with his parents was  _ certainly _ strained, especially at the moment, but a memory did resurface.

“I got a bike when I was twelve,” Akira said. “From my parents. I had walked to school every day before then, and it was  _ so _ cool to show up with a fancy new bike.”

“What color was it?” Ryuji asked.

“Red,” Akira smiled fondly, remembering the glittery red paint job. “Okay, Niijima next. You’ve received one million yen. What’s the first thing you buy?”

“You’re going to laugh at me for this,” Niijima blushed. “But it would be a motorcycle. My dad used to have one, and I always thought it looked  _ so _ cool.”

“Do you have a license?” Ann asked.

“No, no,” Niijima shook her head. “I take the train like everyone else right now. I’ve just never liked public transportation. Who should go next…?” She muttered to herself. “Ryuji, what’s your favorite time of the day?”

“Boring!” Akira heckled, bursting into laughter at Niijima’s offended expression.

“ _ So  _ boring,” Ann added.

“Fine, I’ll ask something else,” Niijima huffed. “Who was your childhood celebrity crush?”

“Oh, Black Condor from Featherman,” Ryuji grinned. “I mean, he was fictional, obviously, but when I was a kid, I didn’t know that, and I was  _ obsessed _ with him. Had all the merch.”

“Good choice,” Niijima shrugged.

The conversation was stopped for a moment while a waitress came by to take their orders. 

“I’ll have a water,” Yusuke said. “That’s free, right?”

“Yes,” the waitress nodded.

“I can buy you a drink, if you’d like,” Akira offered.

“Oh, I don’t mind drinking water, Akira,” Yusuke replied politely. “I just don’t have a lot of extra spending money.”

“What fountain drinks do you like?” Akira asked.

“I suppose my favorite is Tap Soda,” Yusuke thought.

“Okay, two Tap Sodas for us, please,” Akira said to the waitress.

Yusuke huffed, but didn’t say anything.

The waitress returned a moment later with their drinks, allowing them to start the conversation again. 

“You didn’t have to purchase my drink,” Yusuke frowned.

“I wanted to! It’s a night out, you shouldn’t have to be frugal,” Akira replied.

“I suppose…” Yusuke sighed, turning back to the rest of the group. “Thank you, then.”

“Yusuke, I’m picking you,” Ryuji said. “Tell me… What’s one embarrassing thing about your teacher Madarame?”

Yusuke looked a little taken aback.  
“That’s not about _him_ , Ryuji,” Ann rolled her eyes.

“Cheating!” Akira said.

“Fine. What’s one embarrassing thing about  _ you _ ?” Ryuji modified his question.

“I’ve had difficulty making friends for most of my life,” Yusuke said. “Sensei suspects it is because of the way I speak.”

Everyone frowned, giving each other worried looks.

“We’re your friends, Yusuke,” Ann reassured him.

Akira gave him a quick pat on the back before Yusuke gave him a confused look. He retreated, afraid he had stepped over a line.

“Thank you all,” Yusuke smiled. “You are very accommodating to my eccentricity.”

“It’s not a problem, man,” Ryuji frowned.

“Anyways,” Yusuke looked eager to change the subject. “Takamaki, hmm… If you came across a large sum of money, would you try to find the owner, or would you keep it?”

Ann pursed her lips, thinking. 

“I think I’d turn it in if it was in a wallet,” Ann explained. “But just cash on the street? I’d take it.”

“Everyone’s gone once, but no one’s out yet,” Niijima observed. 

“We need to ramp it up then,” Ann grinned. “Ryuji, what color is your underwear?”

“One sec,” he muttered. He pulled his shirt up as casually as possible, observing his boxers showing from his sagging pants, all while still sitting in the booth. Niijima, Ann, and Yusuke politely turned their heads. Meanwhile, Akira was craning his head to get a good look.

“Green and pink!” Akira announced.

“He’s right,” Ryuji grinned.

“I didn’t really expect you to…” Ann grimaced. “Whatever.”

“My turn,” Ryuji smirked. “‘Kira, who’s your crush?”

_ He’s forcing me out!  _ Akira frowned.  _ He knows I can’t answer with Yusuke right here. _

“I forfeit,” Akira threw his hands up.

“Akira’s the first one out?” Ann looked surprised. “Well, Ryuji  _ did _ play dirty.”

“Okay, Ryuji chose someone else, I guess,” Niijima said. 

“Yusuke, who here is the most attractive?” Ryuji tried to keep his smile under control, giving a not-so-subtle wink to Akira.

“Takamaki,” Yusuke answered definitively. “Now, Nii—”

“Wait, how can you say  _ I’m _ the most attractive?” Ann asked. “I thought you  _ weren’t _ attracted to me.”

“Objectively, I mean. You are a model, and the rest of us are not,” Yusuke blinked. “Was that not the question?”

“Sorry, I meant, who’s most attractive to  _ you, _ ” Ryuji clarified. 

“I suppose Akira,” Yusuke bit his lip in thought. “Yes, something about the structure of his face, I think.”

Niijima was giving Akira the most exasperated look.

“Thank you,” Akira smiled at Yusuke. 

“Now, Niijima, I was going to ask you…” Yusuke trailed off. “I’ve never played this game, so I do not know many embarrassing questions.”

Ryuji leaned over and whispered something into Yusuke’s ear.

“I suppose I could ask that,” Yusuke nodded. “Alright, Niijima, what was your most shameful ‘break-up’?”

Niijima flushed red, taking a moment to sip from her glass.

“I’m out,” she muttered.

Akira noticed Ann’s posture relax and a small sigh come from her.

Only Ryuji, Ann, and Yusuke remained.

Akira’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and Ryuji gestured for him to look at it.

Ryuji  
  
Yusuke’s gonna be tough to take out. I don’t think he has any secrets. You gotta help me.  
  
How?  
  
I don’t know! He’s YOUR boyfriend!  
  
He’s not.  
  
And don’t torture him.  
  


Their food arrived at that moment, with an exasperated look from the waitress. Maybe they had been a bit too loud, even for the family diner.

“I’ll go first this round,” Ryuji spoke up. “Ann, how tall are you?”

“165 centimeters,” she said. 

“Couldn’t think of anything,” Ryuji admitted to Akira. “Maybe Ann’ll have something.”

“Kitagawa, what’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever drawn?” Ann asked.

“Hm,” he contemplated for a moment. “Actually, I think I will withdraw.”

“Really?” Ann looked surprised.

“The point of the game is to tell the truth, correct? My correct answer would be too shameful to admit to,” Yusuke explained gracefully. 

That meant only two players remained.

Ryuji and Ann made eye-contact and some sort of spark seemed to ignite between them.

“Lightning round,” a devious smile curled across Ann’s face.

“You or me?” a similar smile was on Ryuji’s face as he asked.

“You start,” Ann responded.

“Ever had a crush on a teacher?”

“Yeah, Mr. Kurosu in elementary school. Last time you wet the bed?”

“Fourth grade. Weight?”

“132 pounds. How was your first kiss?”

“Terrible. How was yours?”

“Average.” 

Niijima huffed at that one. Ann shot her a sympathetic look before turning back to Ryuji.

“Do you know how to cook?” Ann continued.

“Absolutely not. Most embarrassing thing you’ve done during a shoot?”

“Bent over and ripped the dress I was wearing. The stupidest thing your mom’s caught you doing?”

“Seeing if I could cook eggs in the dishwasher. Stupidest lie you’ve ever gotten away with?”

“Telling you that your dye job was even when it clearly wasn’t. Blondes or brunettes?”

“Brunettes. What’s y—”

“Stop!” Niijima interjected. “Neither of you have  _ any _ shame, so this will never end.”

Ann and Ryuji leaned back, relaxing.

“Makot _ oooo, _ ” Ann whined.

“Sorry, Niijima,” Ryuji pouted.

Akira laughed, easing the tension of the moment.

“I would consider the ice thoroughly broken,” Yusuke smiled. 

“Maybe we know a bit  _ too _ much now,” Akira was beaming.

They turned their attention to their untouched food and ate in comfortable silence, listening to the sounds of the busy diner. 

Once they had finished their meals, Ryuji stretched his arms far above his head, forcing his back to pop.

“You guys headed home?” he asked.

“I think I should,” Ann sighed. “It’s almost my curfew.”

“I need to return before my sister does,” Niijima checked her watch. “She gets off work in an hour, so I should start getting home soon.”

“I do not need to be home by a certain time,” Yusuke said. 

“Boss’ll probably want me home soon,” Akira sighed. “I’m gonna head out, I guess.”

They split the bill and headed in their separate directions. 

When he entered LeBlanc, Sojiro looked up from his newspaper, giving Akira a nod.

“Out with friends?” he asked.

“Yeah, we went to the Central Street diner,” Akira explained.

“Your cat’s been whining all evening,” Sojiro sighed.

At that, Morgana bounded down the stairs and butted his forehead into Akira’s leg.

“Hey, Mona,” Akira smiled.

“Never seen a cat fall in love that quick,” Sojiro stood up straight. “Well, I’m headed home. Will you help me around the shop tomorrow afternoon?”

“Yeah, gotcha,” Akira nodded and headed to his room.

-

Mondays were surprisingly busy at LeBlanc, even in the afternoons. But today, they were swamped. By the time Akira stopped in to work, there were usually only a few customers mingling around, avoiding going home, before Boss practically had to push them out the doors. Today, though, nearly every seat was filled.

“What is  _ with _ these customers?” Sojiro hissed, bringing Akira another stack of dirty dishes.

“No idea,” Akira got to work washing the next batch. At this rate, people were going to dirty mugs and plates quicker than Akira could get through them.

Akira felt his phone buzz in his pocket, but he couldn’t check it at the moment.

It took another half hour for the crowd to thin enough that Akira was able to take a quick peek at his phone.

Unknown  
  
Did you enjoy the extra business?  
  
I reviewed LeBlanc on my (very well-known) food blog.  
  
Don’t worry, I gave it a high rating.  
  


Akira scrolled up to realize that this was  _ Akechi’s _ number. That made sense, actually. He had forgotten to save it the last time Akechi had messaged him. He added a contact name.

Detective PISS  
  
thx  
  
Come on now. Don’t be cold with me, I’ve likely saved that dinky little shop of yours. A real ‘thank you’ would be nice.  
  
Thank you, Goro Akechi the Master Detective. I am not fit to shine your shoes.  
  
Am I sensing sarcasm?  
  
nah.  
  


He put his phone down when he heard Sojiro arguing with someone near the front of the shop. He pressed himself into the wall of the kitchen, getting as close as possible to the conversation while staying out of sight.

“More?” Sojiro’s voice asked. “I already sent you payments for this month.”

“Well, Sakura, I’m a small business owner,” another voice responded. “You must know how hard it is to keep one afloat, what with this place.”

“Take out a loan, then,” Sojiro replied. “I’m not giving you a cent more than we agreed.”

“I know you’re not hurting for money, Sakura,” the other man said. “You must have a lot saved up from that fancy government job.”

“Yeah, well, I have my own business—and family—to keep afloat. I can’t just be giving money out to people like you.”

“That reminds me… I didn’t want to mention this, but I heard that Futaba isn’t enrolled in school,” the voice continued. “That’s some pretty bad parenting. I wonder what domestic affairs would say about that?”

“That’s none of your business,” Sojiro responded.

“I don’t have all evening to chat with you. Just send me the check by the end of the week,” the other man’s voice faded as he left the shop. The door chime announced his leave.

Akira finally peeked his head around the corner and came face-to-face with a disgruntled Sojiro.

“It’s rude to eavesdrop,” Sojiro frowned.

“I…” Akira tried to find the words to defend himself.

“Sorry, that was uncalled for,” Sojiro rubbed at his forehead. “I’m not mad at you.”

“Who  _ was _ that?” Akira asked.

“Just an old acquaintance looking for money,” Sojiro said. “I agreed to loan him some, but he keeps asking for more and more.”

“Who was that Futaba he was talking about?” Akira asked.

“You’re one nosey kid, aren’t you?” Sojiro said with no malice. “Doesn’t matter. If that guy ever stops by while I’m not here, just call the pol— Actually, don’t call the police. Just call me.” 

Akira nodded.

“Anyways, I’m headed home. Get those dishes done before you go to bed,” Sojiro told him as he removed and folded his apron. 

_ Who is Futaba? _ Akira thought to himself.  _ Does Boss have kids? That guy  _ did _ mention parenting. _

The next day, Akira did some investigating around Yongen-Jaya, trying to figure out if this Futaba lived nearby. He figured the locals might know something about this Futaba.

“Sakura-san always buys enough food for three! He doesn’t have any kids, right?” a grocery clerk told him. “I just wonder where he puts it all. He’s so skinny!”

“All I’ll say is that Sakura-san keeps a pretty large house all to himself. What does a bachelor need a family home for?” a housewife gossiped.

“Sometimes I deliver packages for ‘Futaba Sakura’,” a delivery man explained. “Is that Sakura-san’s wife?”

So, Sojiro  _ obviously  _ had someone else living with him. Presumably this Futaba. But no-one knew anything about her, which struck Akira as odd, considering how small the community was. Akira headed back to the café. Maybe he’d just have to ask Sojiro directly.

As he stepped through the café’s door, a gray-haired woman turned her attention towards him. She was tall, with heels that pushed her even taller, and her stance was dignified. Then, she looked back to Sojiro behind the bar.

“You received my letter, didn’t you?” she asked.

“I have no intention of talking to you about—” Sojiro looked over to Akira for a moment, “that situation.”

“I do not want to have to threaten your custody over Futaba,” the woman said. “But refusing to cooperate with the police, along with Futaba’s state… There are no points in your favor, Sakura-san.”

“Her research was destroyed.  _ She _ destroyed it,” Sojiro said. “And I didn’t know anything about it. I don’t have any good information  _ to _ give you, even if I wanted to.”

“I will be the judge of what information is useful,” the woman said. “Anything you can give, it may help me.”

“Fine,” Sojiro scoffed.

“Wonderful,” she slid a business card across the counter to him. “I will contact you at a later date. My phone number and email address is on that card.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sojiro rolled his eyes as he picked up the card. The woman did not seem deterred though.

“Your coffee truly is very delicious,” she complimented as she walked out, giving a polite nod to Akira.

“What was that all about?” Akira asked.

“None of your business,” Sojiro replied.

“Is Futaba a relative of yours?” Akira prodded further.

“Lock the shop up,” Sojiro tossed him the keys. “I’m going home. Goodnight.”

Once Sojiro was out the door, Akira rubbed at his forehead tiredly. He couldn’t just leave this mystery alone—it  _ did _ involve him, no matter what Sojiro claimed. It was his guardian’s relative, after all.

His phone pinged.

███████  
  
Stop bothering Sojiro.  
  
Stay out of it..  
  
Who are you?  
  
Is this Futaba?  
  
How did you get my number?  
  
You ask a lot of questions.  
  
Sojiro is taking care of me.  
  
I know that.  
  
I’m just confused. This is kind of a huge thing to hide from a person.  
  
Sojiro’s not your dad, dude. He doesn’t owe you anything.  
  
Fine.  
  
A lot of people are using his custody of you as leverage.  
  
I know. I have bugs planted in the café. And in your phone.  
  
What?  
  
I’m a hacker. Pretty good at it too.  
  
Say something. In the café.  
  


Akira looked up from his phone and around the café.

“Hamburger,” he said out loud.

███████  
  
Hamburger?  
  
Genuinely the first thing that came to mind.  
  
But you’ve been listening in on us?  
  
Don’t take it so personally. I have other hobbies. I just have to keep an eye out for Sojiro sometimes.  
  
That stuff with my uncle? It’s none of your business.  
  
Your uncle?  
  
Oops, did you not know that?  
  
Well, yeah, that guy asking for money was my uncle.  
  
That’s scummy.  
  
Says the nosey criminal! >:)  
  
Are you unhappy?  
  
Not leaving the house, I mean.  
  
Awfully nosey, nosey.  
  
I’m just fine.  
  


Suddenly, the text chain disappeared completely, along with his ability to contact Futaba. Akira could only let out a frustrated hiss.  _ Whoever this kid is, she’s a brat. _

He went to bed as usual, checking under furniture for hidden microphones. He found none, but still had a bit of trouble dozing off.

Finally, he just started talking, microphones be damned.

“I don’t  _ want _ to be nosey,” Akira said into the air. “But Sojiro is sort of important to me, you know. I can count on one hand the number of people who have been nice to me since I got here. You know, my own  _ parents _ didn’t want me living with them? Sojiro likes me more than my own parents.

“And, yeah, I’m a little pissed that I’m sleeping in his attic. Especially right now, in the middle of the summer, when I would  _ bet money  _ you’re air-conditioned. That family home of Sojiro’s is huge, so I’m sort of wondering what’s so crazy about your situation that I can’t stay there. I don’t have access to a shower.”

Akira laid in the darkness for a moment, almost expecting his phone to ring with a call or text from Futaba, moved by his words. But a few minutes passed, and the only sound in the room was from Morgana, who was sleeping on his chest and snoring.

“Whatever,” he spat out and snapped his eyes closed. He knew the sleep that would come would be fitful at best, considering Morgana’s body heat and his aforementioned lack of AC.

-

Akira was walking back from another painting session with Yusuke when his phone buzzed.

███████  
  
You’re gay, right?  
  
Not judging.  
  
Have you been listening to me?  
  
Yeah, and by the way you were talking, you’re head over heels for that Kitagawa guy.  
  
I did some research for you. By the way. If you want to hear it.  
  
I don’t want to poke into his private life.  
  
Oh, c’mon, it’s mostly public information.  
  
Mostly?  
  
Peeking into some arrest records never hurt anybody.  
  
Whatever, I’ll just tell you.  
  


In real life, Akira almost bumped into a pedestrian while headed back to LeBlanc. He really needed to pick his head up sometimes.

███████  
  
First off, his medical notes say he’s probably neurodivergent. But no-one’ll diagnose him. Which is...weird. It’s like the diagnosis is being AVOIDED.  
  
That feels really personal.  
  
Like REALLY personal.  
  
I wouldn’t just tell anyone. I don’t go around telling neurotypicals stuff like this. I poked around in some records of yours as well. Me, you, and Kitagawa! The three autists!  
  
I thought I was better at hiding it.  
  
I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that.  
  
Kind of offensive to imply people should hide it.  
  
You’re right, I’m sorry.  
  
Say it outloud!  
  


Akira rolled his eyes, stepping into a side alley nearby, so he could whisper “I’m sorry, Futaba,” into his phone.

███████  
  
Satisfactory. Moving on.  
  
You ever met that teacher of his?  
  
Once or twice. Sometimes he’s around the house.  
  
That guy’s involved with some shady shit.  
  
Really?  
  
Yeah, man, he’s gotten in trouble for laundering money a few times.  
  
But here’s the weirdest part: he’s never been taken to court for it.  
  
No matter how much evidence is piled against him, he never even gets a slap on the wrist.  
  
Not surprising.  
  
Really?  
  
He’s a famous artist. I’d bet he has pretty good lawyers.  
  
You don’t get it. Lawyers don’t even get INVOLVED. It doesn’t go that far. He’s arrested, and then he’s out scot-free without even being questioned.  
  
Unfortunately, still not surprising.  
  
Yeah.  
  
Anyways, keep an eye on your boyfriend.  
  


Akira went to text her back that Yusuke  _ wasn’t _ his boyfriend, but the chat disappeared as it had before.

-

Another week passed before Futaba decided to contact Akira again.

███████  
  
You’re friends with Ann Takamaki, right?  
  
Yeah.  
  
Awesome…  
  
And Goro Akechi?  
  
I wouldn’t say friends.  
  
His number is on your phone.  
  
Yeah, but we don’t get along.  
  
Still pretty cool.  
  
If you say so.  
  
Tell me a juicy secret about Takamaki and Akechi. I want in on the celebrity gossip.   
  
Ann told us a story of when she ripped a dress on set for a shoot.  
  
Akechi likes superhero movies for little kids.  
  
Of course Akechi likes superhero movies. He’s so predictable. I hate him.  
  
?  
  
Ok, bye!  
  


For the third time, Akira’s line of contact to Futaba blinked out of existence.

-

It took a few days for Akira to hear anything from Futaba. And then suddenly, he was face-to-face with her.

Well, he didn’t realize that at first.

It was a Saturday afternoon, and Akira was manning the counter while Sojiro was out buying cigarettes. It was between the lunch and dinner rush, giving Sojiro enough time to dip out for a few minutes. 

A red-headed girl pushed through the café doors and planted herself firmly in a counter seat.

“What can I get for you today?” Akira asked.

“Where’s Sojiro?” she asked.

“He’s on a break,” Akira said. “He’ll be back soon.”

“Hmph,” she responded. She took a moment to look around the café, and she jumped when she made eye contact with a middle-aged woman sitting in a booth.

The door chime rang, announcing another arrival.

“Welcome to Lebla—” Akira started, before he realized that the figure in the doorway was just Sojiro. 

“Good habit to get into, kid,” Sojiro looked up and over to Akira. Then, his eyes drifted over to the customer at the counter.

“Sojiro, I hunger!” Futaba grinned.

“Futaba, you’re… W-what are you  _ doing _ here…? I…” Sojiro stuttered.

“What, I can’t stop by for some curry?” Futaba asked.

“I could’ve brought you some home,” Sojiro hurried behind the counter. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Yeah.”

“How did you get here?”

“It’s a short walk,” Futaba replied confusedly. “Is this a bad time or something?”

“No, no, it’s not that. I’m just shocked to see you out of the house,” Sojiro replied.

“I’m sorry I worried you,” Futaba dipped her head. 

“Ah, no,” Sojiro wiped at his eyes, and Akira politely turned away. “It’s alright.”

“I came with a proposal!” Futaba announced loudly. The lady in the booth behind her jumped and took it as her cue to leave, leaving her bills on the table. Sojiro was too distracted to even call out a “Come again!”

“What?” Akira asked.

“Sojiro, I think Akira should live with us,” Futaba said. “In the house.”

“Huh?” Sojiro looked like he hadn’t expected that. “Well, I mean, I’m not opposed, but why?”

“It’s my fault he couldn’t live there, right?” Futaba asked.

“I wouldn’t put it  _ that _ way,” Sojiro sighed. 

“But I was too afraid to see other people,” Futaba explained. “And bringing a stranger into the house could’ve…”

“I thought it would’ve frightened you, yes,” Sojiro sighed. “Wait, how do you two know each other? I never told you he was living here.”

“I have my sources,” Futaba grinned and pushed her glasses back up her nose. “Back to the matter at hand, I know you have an empty room, Sojiro.”

“I still don’t know if it’s a good idea,” Sojiro sighed. “It’s a lot less privacy, Futaba. You’ll have to see him everyday.”

“Maybe it’ll help me get used to other people, you know?” Futaba posited. 

“I’d like to offer him somewhere better than the attic, but the question remains of  _ why _ do you suddenly care so much?” Sojiro asked.

Futaba shot Akira a worried look.

_ Why doesn’t she just tell him I guilted her the other night? _

_ Oh, she’s probably avoiding the topic of the bugs in the café. _

“Baby steps, right?” Akira asked. “Once you get used to me, it’ll be easier to meet new people.”

“Yeah! Plus, the house is so empty all day,” Futaba whined. “Maybe I’m lonely.”

Futaba chewed on her bottom lip for a moment.

“I know about Uncle,” she admitted. “And I know that I give you a bad name.”

“No, Fut—” Sojiro started to comfort her, but she cut him off.

“He’s been taking money from you,” Futaba said. “And if I’m not enrolled in school, it looks  _ really _ bad for your custody rights, okay? I know all of that.”

“You shouldn’t have to worry about that, Futaba,” Sojiro sighed. 

“You don’t have to protect me,” Futaba said quietly. “I mean, I appreciate it, but I can’t just sit in my room and be used as a bargaining piece.”

“But I don’t want you to do it for my sake,” he said. “If you need more time…”

“I want to,” she said. “Plus, I know Akira already, so Step One of this operation will be easy.”

“You will...have to explain how you know each other at some point, you know,” Sojiro sighed.

“Hush, Sojiro!” Futaba laughed. “Is it a yes or no?”

“You want to, kid?” Sojiro finally turned to him.

Living with them, it’d be different. It’d be less like being an employee or a charity case. Maybe even family-like. Family-adjacent.

_ Living with a family... _

“You have a cat, right?” Futaba lit up. “Please, please, bring the cat with you! I’ve always wanted a cat.”

“You never told me that,” Sojiro huffed.

“I thought you were allergic,” Futaba frowned.

“I am a  _ bit _ , but…” Sojiro let it drop. “We’re getting distracted.”

“I’d like to, yeah,” Akira said sheepishly.

Futaba perked up and ran up the attic stairs in a flash, and Akira heard a crash from up there. Of course, Sojiro and Akira followed her immediately.

Futaba was sprawled across the floor in the middle of the room, face down and groaning.

“I wanted to help you move, but this floor is uneven. I tripped,” she turned on her back and frowned. In a moment, she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

“Will...she be okay?” Akira asked.

“She tires herself out easy,” Sojiro explained. “C’mon, help me get her up.”

Through some miracle, the two managed to carry her out of the café, all the way home, and up into her room. Once she was in bed, Sojiro turned to Akira.

“Either I’m getting smaller, or she’s getting bigger,” Sojiro popped his back.

He waved Akira out of Futaba’s bedroom and into the hallway.

“C’mon, let me show you your room,” he said. “I’ll pull out a spare futon.”

“It’s okay,” Akira replied. “It can wait until tomorrow, it’s late.”

“If I send you back to that attic now, Futaba will have my head,” Sojiro laughed.

Sojiro told him that his room was across from Futaba’s, and that the first door of the hallway was a bathroom. 

Akira’s new room was small, the size of Futaba’s, but he hadn’t really  _ needed _ the huge open space of the attic.

The room had a few boxes scattered around, pushed into corners and stacked. It had obviously been used as storage space. The floor was hardwood, and a dark green shag rug took up a majority of that floor, though its placement was uneven with the walls. A bookshelf in one corner had a generous coating of dust. In the opposite corner, there was a shoddily rolled futon.

“It was Futaba’s,” Sojiro explained. “But she decided she wanted a Western-style bed one day.”

Akira didn’t realize he was making a face until Sojiro laughed.

“It’s been washed since then,” he assured Akira.

“You’re still welcome to use that dusty old attic, by the way,” Sojiro said. “If your friends want to hang out up there or whatever.”

“Thank you,” Akira smiled.

“Don’t say I never did anything nice for you,” Sojiro waved him off.

-

“Akira, Akira!” a voice hissed. There were hands on his chest, shaking him awake.

He sucked in a frightened breath, and his eyes snapped open. A figure was over him, but in the dark and without his glasses, he was having trouble placing who it was.

“Ah, sorry, shouldn’t have touched there,” the voice said. Akira tried to focus his eyes on the face in front of him, but he couldn’t blink the blurriness out of his eyes.

“C’mon, wake up, we have to talk,” the figure said. Then, they fell back into sitting next to the futon.

“Who…” Akira’s voice was raspy as he tried to speak.

“Futaba Sakura, idiot!” the figure responded. “Did you forget who’s house you were living in?”

“I thought I was living in Sojiro Sakura’s house,” Akira muttered as he pawed around for his phone and glasses. The process disturbed Morgana, who yowled when Akira accidentally dislodged him from his sleeping spot between Akira’s legs.

“You and that cat…” Futaba muttered. “Have you ever considered that you’re codependent?”

“Never,” Akira said as Morgana kneaded Akira’s stomach and yawned. “We just don’t like to be separated.”

“Whatever,” Futaba rolled her eyes. 

“What time is it?” Akira asked.

“I don’t know, like four?” Futaba said. “C’mon, man, day and night don’t exist when you’re a world-famous hacker. I have work to do.”

“Day and night exist for  _ me _ ,” Akira finally found his phone and confirmed that, yes, it was 4:23 A.M.

“Okay, sorry for waking you up,” Futaba said. “Now,  _ listen _ , I’m worried about your boyfriend.”

“My...boyfriend?” Akira asked.

“Kitagawa,” Futaba clarified.

“What’s wrong?” Akira finally sat up, dislodging Morgana for a second time. The cat murmured lowly and exited the room to go find a less mobile sleeping place.

“So, I was digging into Madarame,” Futaba explained. “And I was reading this blog post, from this guy claiming some pretty crazy stuff about Madarame. Of course, I was like, ‘This dude is a troll,’ but I dug around some  _ more _ and that guy lived with Madarame as a apprentice for half a year.”

“What was he saying?” Akira asked.

“He was saying that Madarame abuses his pupils, steals their art, and ruins their careers if they try to speak out about it,” Futaba explained. “Like, that whole show of his that was running earlier this year—it was plagerized pieces!”

“That’s...not good,” Akira processed that.

“But the abuse, that’s why I’m worried about Kitagawa,” Futaba frowned. “Have you ever been in Kitagawa’s room?”

Akira flushed red. “N-no, of course not.”

“I hate you,” Futaba glared at him. “You know that’s not what I was implying.”

“I’ve only been in his studio,” Akira explained.

“Eh… How do I say this…?” Futaba rubbed at her forehead. 

“Just read the post,” Akira suggested.

“Yeah, good idea,” Futaba pulled her phone out of her pocket, navigating to the blog.

“This entry is a few months old,” she explained. “Okay, here goes.

“‘Before any of you say something about going to the police, they wouldn’t care. I’m pretty sure other pupils of Madarame’s tried and failed. I just wish people knew that Madarame is a terrible, cruel man. I wish he wasn’t praised on TV. Every time I see advertisements for his shows, it makes me sick. 

“He steals our artwork. The pieces you see at his shows? 90% chance some kid made that. He always treated it like payment for taking us in. I would’ve gladly given my art to be featured in his shows, if it had been under my name. But no, my artwork will forever be remembered as Madarame’s.

“Our living conditions were worse. There was only one futon in that shitty little shack. We switched out, giving it to the youngest pupil most nights. If you weren’t on the futon, you were on the floor. Madarame didn’t keep food in the house, so anything in the fridge was bought by those of us who had part-time jobs. For a few months, I spent every bit of my paychecks to keep the younger kids fed. I get it, Madarame took us in without any compensation, but a lot of those kids were too young to get part-time jobs. I don’t believe he wasn’t wealthy enough to feed us. I’ve seen how extravagant his shows are.

“Everyone was scrambling to leave after a few months. There was only one pupil I knew who stayed longer than that. A lot of us knew that our careers would be ruined if we ran. We did it anyways. One of the other students killed himself after Madarame crushed his dreams. When I tried to speak out, I was blacklisted. No art school in the country will accept me now. I’m a teller now. Stop going to his shows, please.”

Futaba and Akira sat in silence for a second.

“I don’t think he was joking,” Futaba admitted. “I mean, I looked into him. He really lived with Madarame, and he really did suddenly get some government job as soon as he left.”

Akira was silent.

“Talk to me, Akira,” Futaba fidgeted. “What are you thinking?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbled. “What do we do? What’s the next step?”

“I…” Futaba brought her knees up to her chest, and Akira mirrored her. “I don’t know.”

“We can’t let him know we know, right?” Akira asked.  
“What? Why not?” 

“It’s usually not considered...polite to poke into people’s problems like this,” Akira explained. “I don’t know if it’s right, how much poking you’ve been doing into him.”

“I’ve done the same amount of research on your other friends,” Futaba said.

“That doesn’t make it any better,” Akira hugged his knees a little closer. “Can we just...let people tell us their problems? Instead of finding out ourselves.”

Futaba was silent, staring at the floor. She was chewing on her lip, thinking.

“Futaba?”

“When I was a kid, I was really nosey,” she admitted. “I always thought ‘It won’t hurt anyone if  _ I _ know their secrets. Because I’m a good person.’ I wasn’t going to do anything with the information, but I loved to have it, you know? But…”

She took a moment to collect herself.

“I dug too far one time,” she continued. “My friend Kana in elementary school. Her parents were...terrible. And I was nosey and found out and… We stopped talking.”

“I’m sorry,” Akira said quietly.

“I don’t know why I told you that,” she admitted. “Maybe I’m kinda embarrassed. Still poking around because I’ve got nothing better to do.”

Akira nodded, having trouble finding the right words.

“I’ll stop poking,” she said. “Unless it’s really serious.”

“Yeah, of course,” Akira nodded.

“You should invite him over some time, though,” Futaba said. “Give him a proper bed for a night and some of Sojiro’s curry.”

“That’s a good idea, actually,” Akira said.

“You can also confess your undying love!” Futaba giggled.

“I will  _ not _ be doing that,” Akira rolled his eyes. “Now, leave so I can go back to sleep. We have to move all my stuff from LeBlanc tomorrow.”

“You can leave some stuff there, can’t you?” Futaba whined. 

“I’d like my couch at least,” Akira said. “And my TV.”

“How’re you going to fit it in here?” Futaba asked. “I’ve seen that thing, it’s a monster. Sojiro has one in the living room anyways.”

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” Akira waved Futaba off. She stood up, and Akira realized Morgana was still gone. “Where do you think Morgana ran off to?”

“He’s probably all snuggled up in Sojiro’s futon,” Futaba giggled. “He’ll  _ act _ so pissed, but he’ll secretly like it.”

She left, and Akira looked at his phone’s clock. It was nearly 5 A.M. He considered just staying up and starting his day early, but another hour or two of sleep was too appealing. 

-

“Kid!” Akira jolted up by a Sakura for the second time that morning. Sojiro was banging on his door. “Get up, you’re working a shift today.”

“Capitalism never sleeps,” he muttered to himself, getting dressed.

Sojiro was still at his door when he opened it.

“Geez, kid, when’s the last time you took a shower?” Sojiro frowned at his disheveled hair and greasy face.

“Umm,” Akira thought. “April.”

Sojiro lowered his eyes. “Yeah, uh, that was… That’s my bad. Shower’s down the hall, just meet me at the shop in thirty minutes.”

Sure, Akira had taken baths at the bathhouse. Sure, he kept a strict skincare routine. Sure, he had taken the occasional shower at the gym after a workout with Ryuji. But having a shower again, it was nicer than Akira had expected it to be.

-

When Akira joined Sojiro at the café, he was surprised to find the shop hadn't opened yet. Sojiro was pouring two cups of coffee.

“Sit,” he waved Akira over.

Sojiro placed one cup in front of Akira, and one a bit further down the counter.

“You can drink it,” Sojiro watched Akira hesitate. “It’s not poisoned.”

“Reassuring,” Akira smirked as he raised the cup to his lips. It was a brew he hadn’t had before.

“That’s a blend made from Toraja beans,” Sojiro said. “I don’t serve it, but I make it once a year. It was Wakaba’s favorite.”

“Wakaba?” Akira asked.

“I can never tell what you know and what you don’t,” Sojiro laughed. “Futaba didn’t tell you?”

“No.”

“Well, Futaba’s not my biological daughter,” Sojiro explained. “I adopted her after a friend of mine passed away.”

“How did she…”

“Suicide.”

“I’m sorry,” Akira lowered his head.

“That’s what the official ruling was, at least,” Sojiro scowled. “I have my doubts.”

“You think she was killed?” Akira asked.

“Right before her death, she got really paranoid,” Sojiro explained. “She took all her research from her lab and hid it in her home.”

“What was she studying?” Akira asked.

“Subliminal messaging,” Sojiro said. “I had a government job at that time, and I spent a lot of time in her lab. It was...crazy stuff. I mean, if she wanted to, she could’ve made people believe anything.”

“So, you think…”

“You really are too nosey,” Sojiro glared at him. “But yes. She wouldn’t sell her research. She thought it was inhumane, to trick the public like that. Then, suddenly she was dead. I’m no idiot.”

Akira finished his coffee and frowned.

“Alright, no more moping around,” Sojiro straightened. “I’m opening up. Get your apron on.”

-

After his shift manning the Sunday morning rush, Sojiro set Akira free to do whatever he wanted. He immediately texted Yusuke.

Yusuke  
  
Hey, sorry that this is kind of sudden.  
  
But are you free today?  
  
Yes. I’ll unlock the door for you.  
  
Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to come to my place.  
  
You can sleep over if you want.  
  
I would enjoy that.  
  
I will request permission.  
  


A few (frankly stressful) minutes passed before Yusuke texted him again.

Yusuke  
  
Madarame said that he did not mind.  
  
Will you forward me your address?  
  


Akira did.

Yusuke  
  
Wonderful.  
  
I will arrive in an hour.  
  


Akira jumped, realizing that he only had an hour to get ready. Luckily, his makeup was still passable, and he was already wearing casual clothes, but his room was in bad shape. He rushed back to the house.

“Futaba!” he threw open her door.

“Learn to knock!” Futaba screamed back, not turning away from the computer screen.

“You have to help me,” Akira realized he was out of breath and huffing. “Yusuke is coming over, and my room is still a wreck.”

“On it!” Futaba finally turned around and hopped out of her chair. “Come, minion, we have a room to clean!”

They walked across the hallway to assess the damage.

“Okay,” Futaba said. “I’ll be honest I have no idea where to start.”

“We need to vacuum the rug, dust the shelves—wait, dusting comes first. So we need to dust my shelf, vacuum my rug, get the boxes out, get the couch  _ in, _ ” Akira rambled.

“What do you need me to do?” Futaba stood at attention, raising her hand to her forehead in a salute.

“You start on the boxes, I’ll go get the couch,” Akira said.

“By yourself?”

“I’ll guilt Sojiro into helping,” Akira grinned as he ran out the door.

It took a promise of an extra shift, but Sojiro approved of Yusuke coming over ( _ I probably should’ve asked first.) _ and helped move the couch to the Sakura residence. By the time they had the couch up the stairs and into Akira’s new room, Futaba was sprawled across the floor, digging through the boxes she was supposed to be moving.

“Look, Akira, I found a photo album!” she waved a small book in Akira’s face. “C’mon, it’s Sojiro’s baby pictures.”

That actually interested Akira, and he decided a moment to look through a photo album wouldn’t hurt anyone.

There were only a few pictures from Sojiro’s childhood, which struck Akira as odd.

“When was Sojiro born?” he asked Futaba.

“The 60s,” she mumbled, staring intently at a black-and-white photograph of a toddler that was supposed to be Sojiro. He was in a little button up shirt, posed with his mother and father against a white background. His parents were smiling, while he was staring wide eyed at the camera.

“What kind of family were they?” Akira asked.

“Don’t know,” Futaba replied. “They were well off, I think. He went to a nice college.”

They flipped a page to find a school ID with the label “Sakura Sojiro, Class of 1983.”

“He’s so old,” Akira laughed. “Look, Fu—”

“Holy shit,” Futaba breathed. Her eyes flicked between Akira and the school ID rapidly. “Holy shit, Akira, you look  _ exactly _ like him.” No way.

Akira studied the picture closer. This highschool-aged Sojiro didn’t wear glasses, and his hair wasn’t as long as Akira’s was currently but…

Yeah, they looked scarily similar. Same eyes, same nose, same  _ scowl _ . Akira pulled out his own school ID and placed it next to Sojiro’s. Their glare at the camera was the exact same somehow. 

“Woah,” Akira said quietly.

“How does that even  _ happen _ ? You guys aren’t related!” Futaba threw her hands up.

“I...don’t know,” Akira mumbled. Suddenly, he jolted. “Does that mean I’ll look like Sojiro when I’m old?”

“Oh, c’mon, he’s not  _ that _ bad,” Futaba giggled.

They continued to flip through, finding pictures from Sojiro’s adult life, though they were few and far between. Mostly old IDs for work or group photos from outings. On one of the pages, a picture of a woman was secured to the page next to a handwritten note saying, “Your curry is good, Sakura, I’ll give you that. But I will make it perfect!”

“That’s Mom…” Futaba said quietly.

“Wakaba?”

“Yeah,” Futaba ran her fingers along the picture. “This must’ve been before I was born… She’s so young here.”

“They knew each other for a while, right?” Akira asked.

“Yeah, Sojiro was just...always around. Even since I was a little kid.”

She flipped another page and found a different note, folded and tucked into the book.

Futaba read it.

“Sojiro, my research was approved by the board! I start assembling a team tomorrow. You want in?”

The next page featured Wakaba holding an infant, presumably Futaba. Writing under the photo said “June 4th, 2001.”

Futaba kept turning pages, almost too quickly to see the photos. A photo of Futaba’s first steps, a blown out picture of Wakaba celebrating with Sojiro at a bar after a promotion, Futaba turning away from the camera for her first day of school, a crayon drawing of Futaba’s addressed to Sojiro, a photo of a sleeping Sojiro with marker drawings on his face. The flipping got faster, and Akira turned to look at Futaba. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, but her face was calm.

“Futaba,” Akira started, but she just kept blowing through the album. A moment later, she came to the end and slammed the cover shut.

“I forgot a lot,” Futaba said. “I don’t remember much of Mom.”

Akira stayed silent.

“But now I remember,” she said. “And I’m angry.”

“Why?”

“I know she wouldn’t have killed herself.”

Akira didn’t know what to say.

“I’m getting to the bottom of it,” she stood up suddenly. “I’ll find out what happened to her. If it ever even  _ touched _ an Internet connection, I can find it.”

Akira gave her a small smile.

“Does that mean I have to clean on my own?” Akira laughed.

“What? No, I’ll start looking after your date,” Futaba smiled. “Now,  _ c’mon _ , we just wasted a bunch of time.”

After teaching Futaba how to operate a vacuum cleaner, the room was in much better shape. Akira threw the curtains open, and the two managed to catch the sunset.

“It’ll be fun to live with you,” Futaba said. “I can make you bring me coffee whenever.”

At that moment, the doorbell rang.

“Have fun, Romeo!” Futaba called as she retreated to her room.

_ Here we go. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates may slow down in the coming weeks due to mental health stuff. If I miss a week, I will post about it on my Tumblr (lemontoffee).

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my beta reader: @allukat on both Tumblr and AO3! And my other beta: stardust-and-seas on Tumblr! You're a big help!


End file.
